The City
by smc-27
Summary: Somewhere between coffee at Dean and Deluca and riding the Staten Island Ferry just for fun, he starts to think that it actually makes a lot of sense for the two of them to end up going rogue the week after graduation. Puck/Rachel future fic.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I started writing this as a one shot. Yeah, now it's 13 chapters and I'm not done yet. So since it was meant as a one shot, the writing style is a little different than your average chapter story. There will be time jumps all over the place, so don't take timeline _too_ seriously. Also, I'll tell you right now, it's going to be a journey...just so you're warned.

----

The first thing he notices when he gets to the bus station is Rachel Berry standing there with a big bag slung over one shoulder and a huge rolling suit case at her side.

"Where're you going?" he asks before even saying hello.

"New York," she says, unfazed. "You?"

He shrugs. All he's got is a duffle bag, his guitar, several thousand dollars in the bank from his summer working and the sale of his truck, and an urge to get the hell out of this town before it's too late.

"Dunno. What's in New York?"

Her eyes meet his and she smiles, but it's not the smile he's used to seeing. "Everything?" she suggests.

He laughs softly and nods. "Want company?" She doesn't say anything. She doesn't say _no_, most importantly. "Where're your dads?"

"Busy," she says softly.

He looks at her, because she never really says anything softly, and he notices that her eyes are a little red, and her cheeks are a little chapped. He thinks she's been crying, but he supposes that makes sense if she's just said goodbye to people and stuff. He knows his mom cried like a freaking baby before he left the house. She refused to even drive him to the bus station, but at least she called him a cab.

He buys his ticket and they wait together, neither of them saying a word, until their bus is called.

He loads her bags on and watches her as she steps on the bus, and she's wiping a tear from her cheek, so he thinks something's going on with her. And Sad Rachel makes him feel bad.

He just doesn't know her well enough to ask her what it is. Maybe they've spent the last couple years as acquaintances, getting along well enough and even laughed together a few times. They hung out a few times, too, in groups and once or twice on their own. It's not like they're best friends, but they've always (_always_ meaning, since sophomore year) gotten along okay. She doesn't hate him and he doesn't want to strangle her.

He doesn't know what to say to her when he sits down and she doesn't look at him.

So he just settles his arm on the armrest next to hers so their elbows are touching. He figures that's about as much comfort as he's allowed to give her.

And that's okay, because it seems to work.

----

"So what's your big plan for when you get to New York?"

They're in the middle of Pennsylvania and she's leafing through some girly magazine. "Find an apartment, I guess."

"You don't have one yet?" he asks in shock. "You don't have like, a 47 step plan on how to take over the city?"

She doesn't say anything for a second. She closes her magazine and looks out the window again.

"No."

----

The bus drops them somewhere in the middle of the city, and he sees her smile for the first time in hours and hours.

"We need a hotel room," she states, hitching her bag up over her shoulder. She notices he's clutching the handle of her rolling suitcase. She decides it's nice of him to carry it for her.

"We?" he asks.

She rolls her eyes and starts off down the sidewalk. "Yes, we. And don't even think of getting any ideas!"

He laughs and follows her.

(He doesn't know it yet, but this'll become a theme.)

----

She washes the bus travel off her face and steps out of the bathroom to see him laying on his bed with the remote control in his hand.

She shakes her head, snatches the remote from him, and takes his hand.

He doesn't even get a chance to grab his cell before she pulls him out the door.

She's going on and on about New York and all the things he needs to see, and somewhere between coffee at Dean and Deluca and riding the Staten Island Ferry just for fun, he starts to think that it actually makes a lot of sense for the two of them to end up going rogue the week after graduation.

----

"I'm so tired," she says, flopping back onto her bed once they get back to the hotel.

He takes off his tee shirt and unbuckles his belt, then unzips his fly and lets his jeans fall to the floor. She doesn't even look at him twice.

"Today was crazy," he says with a laugh. Honestly, it feels like he's a million years away from Lima.

Which, let's face it, is exactly what he was going for.

She smiles again and reaches for her toiletry bag and pajamas, then slips into the bathroom.

She tries not to think too much about how this is all happening, how she's here with Noah Puckerman, of all people.

But maybe it's perfect that the person she knew the least in her old life is the person she knows best in her new one.

----

Five minutes.

The light is out and they've said goodnight to one another, and from their 20th floor hotel room, they can barely hear the sirens and white noise below.

But she only lasts five minutes before she talks again, and he smiles in the darkness because frankly, he's been expecting it.

"What are you going to do, Noah?"

There it is. The question he's been waiting for all day.

"Dunno."

The answer is a lot scarier now than it was in Lima.

----

She's awake and showered and dressed, and there are three cups of coffee in the room. One in her hand, two on the bedside table.

He wakes up and grumbles about the amount of sun pelting into the room, and when he looks over at her, he almost laughs. Her entire bed is covered in newspaper, her coffee now sitting between her legs as she sits cross-legged, and she's got a bright pink marker in her hand.

"Oh! Noah! You're awake," she says when she notices him rubbing sleep from his eyes. "I brought you a coffee."

"Thanks," he mumbles. "What time is it? How long have you been up? Where'd you get all that?"

"It's nearing 10:00, and I've been up since shortly before 7:00. I went to the hotel gym, came back here and showered, went out for breakfast to that little diner we saw yesterday a couple blocks from here, and then stopped at Starbucks before heading to the newsstand for every major New York paper."

Annnnd there's the crazy.

He's sipping from his cup and looking over at the pages spread around her. "What's that?"

"Apartment listings!" she says happily.

"Pass it over," he says. She practically claps and reaches for a purple pen before he shoots her a death glare and she gives him a green one. "Guess I can't live in a hotel forever." But, he thinks that sounds pretty sweet. He just knows that the money he has isn't going to last too long, no matter how he slices it. He's going to need a job, too, and... "Holy shit, Rachel. These places are fucking ridiculous!"

"Yes, some of them are quite pricey," she says regrettably. "However some of the smaller bachelors and studios are affordable. Try Brooklyn. Things seem to be a little bit cheaper there."

So he does as she tells him, and yeah, she's right. Cheap_er_. Not _cheap_.

He switches on the television to ESPN and Rachel scoffs, but she's smiling, and whatever, he just likes the background noise.

She turns down the volume and he listens to her calls as she sets up appointments to go look at apartments. He figures she knows what she's doing, so he pulls out his cell and does the same, only instead of like, writing down all the information in a tidy little notebook, he scribbles times down next to the listings in the paper and ignores her when she rolls her eyes at him.

After he's finished his coffee, he pitches the cup into the trash and that's when he realizes she's had two coffees. Caffeinated Rachel isn't necessarily something he wants to have to endure, but he doesn't say anything about it.

He showers and pulls on some clothes, and she's waiting and ready to go when he steps back into the room. She's not bouncing off the walls or anything. He breathes a sigh of relief.

----

"This place is..." she says, looking around once the landlord has stepped out to 'give her a moment to decide.'

"A fucking _shit hole_?" Puck offers. "There's no bathroom in here."

"It's at the end of the hall."

"You're not fucking living here, Rachel."

So she doesn't put in an application, and she follows Noah out of the building, and she smiles to herself because it's nice to not have to do this alone.

----

One of the places he looks at actually isn't bad. It's right next to the subway line (like, the windows rattle when the train goes by) but it's bigger than the other six places they've looked at, and there are no nasty stains on the carpets or anything.

Rachel grins at him as he fills out the necessary application form, and she says 'aww' when he puts his mother down as a reference, and he resists the urge to smack her on the arm.

They're walking back down the stairs (five flights, but he thinks he could handle it). Rachel's behind him and she squeals and presses herself up against him and grabs onto his arm.

He turns around just in time to see a rat run across the landing behind them.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he mumbles.

Rachel giggles, but she's still hanging onto him, and so he takes her hand and gets them the fuck out of there.

----

They stop for food at a little corner diner, and he bites into his burger and tries not to think about doing this over and over every day until he finds a place that doesn't give him crabs just by walking in the door.

"You know," she says, swallowing a bite of her sandwich, "if we lived together, we could find a nicer apartment. We could afford something better."

"You wanna live together?" he asks skeptically. That either sounds like an awesome idea, or a really, really terrible one; nothing in between. She shrugs and he thinks about it for a moment before smiling across the table at her. "Yeah. Okay."

----

It takes them three days to find something, and it's not much.

It's a one bedroom plus 'den/office' in Brooklyn. The view is actually kick ass, and though it's crumbling a little, there's exposed brick on one wall, which Rachel loves. The kitchen is little, but the appliances aren't ancient, and there are no rodents or anything else creepy crawling around. And the landlord isn't a freak, which Puck's pretty stoked about.

They sign the lease on a Wednesday and move in on a Thursday, and she doesn't even have to fight him for the bedroom.

He doesn't hate his little den/office. It's 150 square feet of heaven, and she laughs when he tells her so.

----

She like, absolutely refuses to buy anything second hand, so they go to Ikea and buy a bunch of stuff that they need, and then spend the rest of the day cursing (him) over the instructions and deciding (her) where everything should go.

He dusts off his hands when the last piece of cardboard is tossed into the dumpster, and she stands in their living room, with its navy blue couch and dark wood coffee table and television stand, and she announces that it's perfect.

----

"I need a fucking job," he says seriously one day when they're sitting in Battery Park. She's stretched out in shorts and a camisole, her flip flops sitting on the grass next to her, and he's rocking badass aviators he scooped for six bucks from some kid near the South Street Seaport the other day.

"What would you like to do?" she asks seriously, not bothering to open her eyes.

"I dunno," he answers, and he's starting to feel like every time she asks him something, he answers with those words.

"I think you need to find your passion, Noah," she says.

She makes it sound so easy, like someone who's known all their life what they wanted to do would.

"Yeah, but who the fuck knows when I'll figure that out?" he asks, and he's laughing a little but, _holy shit, he needs to figure that out._ "In the meantime, I need a way to make money."

She sits up and moves in front of him, legs tucked beneath her and hands on his knees. "Well, let's see. What are you good at?" she asks. He thinks it's rhetorical. He's right. "Well, music, which might not make you a ton of money, but if you built your repertoire, you could certainly play some shows and earn something, at least." He nods. "You're...large. You could be a bouncer!"

For some reason, she finds this hilarious. It sends her into a fit of giggles.

"I'm not going to be a bouncer, Rach, come on," he says, laughing a little bit. She's cute when she laughs.

"Why not? You could kick people out of bars for a living!" she says excitedly.

"The hours are shit and I'd have to deal with drunk morons all the time," he explains. She seems to see his logic, because her face turns pensive again. "But like, I could wait tables or something. I mean, fuck, how hard can it be?"

She smiles and nods her head. She thinks that a boy who looks like he does could stand to make a lot in tips.

On their way home, she pulls him into an Italian restaurant about five blocks from their place. There's a help wanted sign in the window, and she politely asks the manager for an application.

He gets the job. It's not much, just a waiter for the lunch shift, and he gets off at 6:00, which kind of sucks because that's when, you know, people come to eat and stuff.

But on his fourth day, he makes a $20 tip on one table and some chick writes her number on the bill, so he figures it might not be so bad after all.

----

When his manager asks him if he'd mind getting rid of his mohawk, Puck runs his hand over his head contemplatively. But he agrees because he needs his job and he's not 16 anymore, so maybe it's time for a change anyway.

Rachel sits him in front of the sink in their tiny bathroom and runs her hands over his scalp as she shaves his head for him.

She stands next to him, both of them looking in the mirror at his new hairstyle. Her lips are in a tight line and he looks at her questioningly.

"I think I miss it," she admits.

He gets that smirk on his face and his eyes sparkle.

"I _knew_ you loved the 'hawk, Berry."

----

Rachel finds work in the little coffee shop around the corner and he's her first customer. She pours him a drip coffee (the extent of her abilities, five minutes into the job) and he hands her a $5 and tells her to keep the change.

----

_tbc..._


	2. Chapter 2

It's his day off, and she's working, so he sits in his boxers in the living room with his guitar in his lap and works on that whole 'building his repertoire' thing.

The sound of her cell phone going off scares the hell out of him. No, seriously, he almost falls off the couch.

He walks towards the sound and sees 'Home' spelled out on the screen, and he lets her voicemail pick it up before going back to learning Willie Nelson's Crazy (a fucking crowd pleaser in dive bars, he knows).

She walks in the door and tosses her apron on the dining table, then pulls her hair from its pony tail.

He's wearing pants now, because he doesn't want a repeat of the incident a couple weeks ago when she walked in and he was in his boxers and she totally freaked out about him 'respecting their common areas'. And no, she didn't appreciate the remark about how his boxers (more specifically what's in 'em) could be their 'common area'. And okay, maybe it didn't really make sense, but it made her collarbone and neck turn pink, which was the goal.

"Hey," he says from where he sits. "Work good?"

"I have _mastered_ the art of the Americano Misto," she says, and he doesn't know if she means to sound as proud as she does. "What'd you do?"

"Learned some new tunes," he says with a shrug. He plays the opening strains to DMB's Crash, and she smiles at him. "Your dads called your cell." She freezes in her place and her face goes white. "What? I didn't answer."

Now that he thinks of it, it's pretty weird that he hasn't heard her talking to them. Weirder still that they aren't beating down the door and freaking out about her living with a dude.

"No. I just...I...I..."

Never in his three years of knowing her has he ever heard Rachel stutter. This is 'put the guitar down' serious.

"What?" he asks with a furrowed brow, getting up to walk towards her. She sits at their dining table and he sits across from her. "Rachel. _Speak_."

"I haven't..." She takes a deep breath and sets her shoulders, locking eyes with him. "I haven't been entirely honest with you."

"Okay," he draws out.

"My fathers are not happy with me."

"Uh. Alright. Why?" From what he knows, those two worship the ground she walks on.

"I declined a full scholarship to OSU's theater program," she says, and she knows it's a surprise, since she never even told him where she had intended to go to school.

"Why in the fuck would you do that!?" he asks. _Yells_.

"Because it's not New York! It's a small time program and NYU rejected me and I can't...I _couldn't_ stay in Ohio," she says seriously, and there are tears in her eyes. "I'd never _be_ anything there, Noah. I'd be the lead in small town roles that wouldn't be fulfilling. I'd _drown_ there. You understand that, don't you?"

And yeah, he guesses he does, so he nods. "But your dads..."

"My dads think I'm crazy for thinking I can make it on Broadway with no schooling in the subject."

"That's bullshit!" he cries.

"That's what I said," she tells him. "I mean, not those words." She laughs tearfully and he tries to smile. "They told me that if I wanted to come to New York, then I'd have to do it on my own, that they wouldn't support me in something they don't agree with."

"That's _fucked_," he says seriously. "You're like the most talented person in...You're like_ the most talented person_!"

She smiles and wipes her tears. "Thank you for saying that."

"So how are you...I mean, it's not like your coffee shop money is filling your pockets, you know?"

"Yes, well, the trust they set up for me wasn't exactly a college fund. It was a trust fund. One which I came into on my 18th birthday, whether they liked it or not," she says seriously. (She does not mention that her trust has close to $75,000 in it. She wants to do this on her own and leave that money for 'just in case'.) "So...actually, the day we left...that was my birthday."

His jaw drops and his eyes go wide. "Why didn't you tell me?" She shrugs one shoulder and gnaws at her bottom lip. "Well, fuck. Change your clothes. Put on something...normal."

"What? Why?" she asks.

"Because I'm like, a month and a half late, but I'm taking you out for your goddamn birthday," he tells her as he stands.

She smiles and he stands there to make sure she goes into her bedroom, before going to change himself. When she emerges again, he's wearing a button down plaid shirt with his jeans, and she's wearing a pair of dark denim shorts and a satin-y shirt thing with a pair of strappy sandals, and he thinks he approves.

They head into Manhattan, and he picks a restaurant that'll probably cost him two full weeks worth of tips, but they sit there and eat an amazing dinner, and he tells the waiter that it's Rachel's birthday, so the guy brings out a piece of chocolate truffle cake with a pink candle lit on top, and she closes her eyes and makes a wish.

He manages to buy a bottle of champagne from a liquor store on East 42nd from some guy who doesn't care that Puck's ID is fake and from out of state.

They meander into Central Park and stand on one of the bridges and get drunk on warm champagne, passing the bottle between them. He lists off the songs he wants to play when he gets a gig and she suggests other ones to construct a 'more well-rounded set list' and her eyes are sparkling with something when she tells him that women always love Sweet Caroline.

He hands the empty champagne bottle to a homeless guy so he can get his 10 cents or whatever when he returns it, and Rachel clings to his arm pretty much the whole way back to their place.

Even when she starts singing on the subway.

And the thing is? She's obviously drunk, and she's obviously off her damn rocker, but the people on the train absolutely love her. There's a guy in a fedora and a sport coat with a trumpet case sitting between his feet, and he starts tapping out a rhythm on the seat. A couple old Jewish ladies sit and swoon and listen to Rachel as she sings _'Selections from a few of my favourite musicals.' _

When someone requests she sing Desperado (it's the creepy guy in the back who Puck's got his eye on because honestly? that kind of staring gets you arrested, buddy), Rachel sings the song with her eyes closed like it's the most poignant thing ever written.

She's still laughing when they make it back onto street level and start the last few blocks towards their place.

"Any requests, Mr. Puckerman?" she asks, blinking flirtatiously. He laughs at her, because Drunk Rachel might be his favourite yet.

"How about Don't Rain on my Parade?" he says. She smiles all bright and practically vibrates. "For old time's sake."

She kisses his cheek and launches into song.

It's three in the morning and she's using the entire sidewalk like it's a stage, spinning around on lamp posts like people do in the movies and picking a flower from one of the flower beds they pass as she belts out this song like it was made for her to sing it.

He wonders if she realizes that he picked it because it just _fits_ right now.

He unlocks the door and she's suddenly tired. She hugs him and yawns as she thanks him _so much_ for taking her out.

She starts towards her bedroom, but he stops her.

"Hey, Rach." She turns around and maybe it's the champagne or the moonlight, but he looks really sweet, standing there with one hand in his pocket, giving her this little smile. "Your dads don't know what the fuck they're talking about." Her smile grows. "You're gonna blow this place out of the water."

She says thank you in this cute little voice and steps into her bedroom, and when the door is closed behind her, he reaches for his guitar and heads to his den/office.

He writes his first song.

(Using the green marker she handed him on their second day in town and a note pad she gave him that he hasn't touched until now.)

----

He gets promoted from the lunch shift to the dinner rush, which means that he works later, but the money's better, and he opens a bank account into which he's going to deposit all his tips.

Rachel smiles when he tells her, and he grins smugly.

"See? I'm fucking responsible and shit," he says.

She laughs and shakes her head, then gives him a high five when he walks past her with his hand out.

----

His first gig is in a seedy dive bar that probably only holds about 100 people on a good night, but he's got an hour long set in between two other acts (a singer/songwriter and a band) and his name is on a poster and everything.

She has to work the late shift at the shop when someone calls in sick, and since it's a Saturday, she doesn't get off until 11:00. She can't get through to him on his cell to tell him she'll be late, and she sends a text but she doesn't know if he receives it because she never hears back.

She actually goes out on her break and buys a new outfit so she won't have to wear her stupid khaki work pants and white polo shirt. She walks into the bar at twenty after eleven wearing low rise jeans (a steal at $30, since there's a little hole at the bottom of the left leg, and she's an excellent bargainer) and a dark purple sweater cut into a low V in the front and the back.

She sees him standing at the back of the room, a bottle of water in his hand as he talks to a guy who looks about their age. She waves when he catches her eye, and he summons her over and introduces her to Marty, the guy who books the talent for the bar.

He goes on stage and she listens to his first couple songs, almost predictable crowd pleasers, but he does them well and they serve their purpose. The women in the place are swooning, and the men are tapping their feet. Rachel sips her diet Sprite and smiles as he belts out a couple of the songs they used to perform with 10 other people.

"I want to bring a guest up on stage," he announces between songs. The crowd goes crazy (as if they know who he's talking about) but Rachel just shakes her head at him and mouths _"no, no, no"_ over and over again. "My friend Rachel is just about the best singer you'll ever hear, and she's going to get up here and sing with me."

She shakes her head again, but he raises his eyebrow like a challenge, and the crowd erupts when she stands from her seat. She pulls up a stool next to him on stage and thanks Marty when he sets up a microphone in front of her.

She leans over and whispers to Noah, "you're lucky I love to sing so much."

He just laughs and starts playing the song.

It's one they're both currently in love with. The band is Needtobreathe, and the song is an amazing duet called Stones Under Rushing Water, and she thinks _she_ might be swooning a little bit as she listens to him sing the first verse.

And yes, she revels in the cheers when the crowd goes crazy over her singing voice.

She hugs him and he laughs at the cute little scowl on her face when they finish.

He'd planned on playing his original, but singing a song about a girl with starry eyes when Rachel's sitting there watching him just feels wrong, for some reason.

They walk home together, her arm linked through his as she talks about his pitch and whatever.

He's not joking when he tells her that as long as he got paid his $250 and didn't get booed off the stage, that's pretty much all he cares about.

She talks his ear off for another hour about how important it is to set goals for his performances.

----

He comes home from work after the shittiest day on record (his pants are covered in wine and there's melted cheese hardening on the _stupid_ tie they make him wear). Needless to say, he's not thrilled to walk into the apartment to see Rachel sitting with some dude on the couch. There's a movie playing in the background, but they aren't really paying attention.

"Oh!" Rachel says in surprise. "Noah, you're home early."

"Yeah. Restaurant was slow," he says, toeing off his shoes. "Hey, man."

"Noah, this is Tosh. Tosh, this is my roommate Noah," Rachel says by way of introduction. She and 'Tosh' stand from the couch and Puck walks over to shake the guy's hand.

"Tosh? Like Josh with a 'T'?" Puck asks. He tries not to make it sound like _'what the fuck kind of a name is that?'_

"My parents are big reggae fans," Tosh says with a laugh. "I was named for Peter Tosh."

"Cool," Puck says. "I'm just gonna shower, then I'll be in my room."

"Noah, you don't have to..."

"Nah, it's fine," he says, attempting a smile. "I'm exhausted anyway. But hey, Rach, wake me up tomorrow. We'll head in whenever."

She smiles and nods at him, remembering their plans to shop downtown together, since they both have the day off, and that hasn't happened since they moved.

Puck makes his way to the bathroom, and once he's in the shower, he actually mutters, "Who the _fuck_ is _Tosh_?"

----

He's sitting on a chair outside the dressing room of some little boutique in SoHo while she tries shit on, and he can't really complain, because they've just gone to three stores for stuff for him, and it's actually been really nice to spend the day with her. They stopped for breakfast and coffee at her favourite little bakery, then grabbed the subway and headed into Manhattan.

It's just now cold enough to need a sweater, which Rachel realizes she doesn't have many of. He laughs at her, since that's pretty much exclusively what she wore back home, but she just tells him that when she packed for this move, she packed light and only brought summer clothes.

"Hey, so what's going on with you and Tosh?"

"Nothing," she answers through the curtain. He can see her feet as she steps into her skirt again. "He comes into work every day and orders hot chocolate. We've been talking, and he asked if I wanted to hang out."

"But you like him," Puck states. She walks out of the dressing room with the sweater he said he liked in her hands.

"He's nice," she says with a shrug as she heads for the register.

He doesn't say anything more, and he wonders why he feels this weird jealousy. They've both made a couple friends at their workplaces, but his friends are dudes (mostly) and her friends are chicks, and this is kind of the first time she's even shown an interest in anyone of the opposite sex since they got to New York.

When they step back onto the street, he takes her shopping bag from her hands and carries it with his own.

"So I guess it's true, huh?" he asks. She looks at him in confusion. "Once you go black..."

"Shut up!" she laughs, swatting at his arm.

"C'mon, you and Matt broke up like, a year ago and you haven't been with anyone since," he reminds her.

"We broke up in _May_, and we were _together_ for a year. I haven't had an interest in anyone," she says seriously. "And to be honest, skin colour doesn't mean anything to me. You know, my dads..." She stops talking and takes a breath. She doesn't talk about them. Ever. "Just because Matt is African-American and Tosh is African-American, that doesn't mean that I'm attracted exclusively to African-American men."

He just nods, because he's afraid that if he says another word about it, she'll like, turn him in for a hate crime or something, the crazy chick.

She's gazing longingly at a dress she obviously can't afford in the window of some shop, and he decides it's time he hear the whole story. He's only heard bits and pieces to this point.

"So why'd you and Matt break up anyway?"

She rolls her eyes (she knew this was coming). "We just amicably decided to end our relationship."

"How come, though? The sex go?" he asks with a sympathetic smile.

She actually laughs softly, then gets this wicked little grin on her lips. "Trust me, that _wasn't_ the problem."

He stops walking and just gapes at her. He's never, ever heard Rachel talk about sex. And he's not gonna let her get away with dropping this particular subject.

"You dirty girl," he says quietly, eyes wide. "Matt totally rocked your world!"

She doesn't even blush. She rolls her eyes and smiles. "Matt was...very skilled." He blinks at her. "We were together for a year, Noah, it's not a surprise that we were intimate."

"No."

"And you know I was with Finn before that."

"Right."

"So why are you looking at me like that!?" she laughs, throwing her hands in the air.

"I just never thought I'd hear you admit that you actually _enjoy_ sex," he tells her as they start walking again. "I mean, you would even let me..."

"Shut up," she laughs, swatting his chest. She doesn't necessarily understand the fixation he (still) has on her breasts. "That was years ago. Things have changed since then."

"Yeah, like the status of your virginity," he mumbles.

"Noah!" she hisses. He laughs and she shakes her head.

"Seriously, though. Matt? Because honestly, I didn't think he was like, rock your world material." She takes her bottom lip between her teeth and gets this weird little smile. "Holy fuck," he mumbles.

"I think we're getting off..." he laughs and she rolls her eyes, "_off topic_. Tosh and I are friends. He's a photographer and actually just a nice guy."

"Guys are only nice to girls when they want to bang them."

"Must you be so crass?" she asks. "And that is not the case with this friendship."

"You saying you'd say no if he told you he wanted you?" he asks, one eyebrow raised.

"I don't know. I don't know that anyone could meet the bar Matt set," she says with a laugh. He thinks she means it as a joke.

Well fuck that.

"Babe, I'm better than Matt," he says confidently.

"How do you know!?" she laughs.

"Because Santana fucked us both, and she can't keep her mouth shut. She told me."

Rachel turns around and walks backwards into the little store she's next to. "Lucky girl," she says.

He takes a deep breath.

He likes New York Rachel.


	3. Chapter 3

"_Tosh_ is a _creep_!" she shouts one day when she steps into the apartment. She drops her keys and bag, then kicks off her shoes (no really, they go flying.)

"What happened?" Puck asks. He doesn't hide his anger.

"He said he'd take some photos, for headshots," she says. He balls his fists. He does _not_ like where this is going. "He tried to convince me to, and I quote, _show my tits_." She notices the hard line of his jaw and the way his nostrils flare a little bit. "He said that's what he thought I wanted! Can you _believe_ that!?"

"I told you he wanted to bang you," he tells her.

"Yeah, well, when he tried to reach for the bottom of my shirt, I kneed him someplace that'll make _that_ particular task difficult for the next little while," she says. He actually smiles. Atta girl. "I'm just so...I'm fucking sick of this. I try to finally make a move and get somewhere with my talent, and this is what happens. And I see the way you're looking at me, and yes, that's the first time I have ever said that particular word, and _don't_ make a big deal about it!"

He smiles at her and raises his brow, and she starts laughing after a moment. She covers her face with her hands and shakes her head. He steps towards her and wraps her into a friendly hug.

"You alright?"

"I'll be fine. I'm just naive. I'm too naive for this city. I think the best of everyone, and...I just hate that I always end up the fool."

"Well, next time Tosh tries to think with his dick, it'll probably remind him of this day. So you might've saved some other chick from the same thing," he tells her, and she laughs again.

"C'mon. Let's go out," she says seriously. "To that place with the cheap pitchers. I need a beer."

He grins and nods.

On the way home, they pass a little dance studio, and Rachel programs the number into her phone.

"I need to dance," she tells him when she notices his questioning look. "I'm going to get back into shape, then find something to audition for. And I'm _going_ to _get_ a part."

"Yeah, ya are," he says, and he throws his arm around her shoulder.

----

When he sees blood on the floor of the apartment when he walks through the door, he thinks his heart falls into his stomach. It's not a lot, just a few drops here and there and a swipe or two on the hardwood, but holy fuck, he was not prepared to come home to that.

He stops himself before he can call out Rachel's name, because who knows who could be in the apartment right now? He steps quietly towards his bedroom and grabs his baseball bat before tiptoeing through the apartment again.

He hears the water turn on in the bathroom, and he tries to remember to breathe. He doesn't see sign of Rachel. Her bedroom door is open and her bed looks neatly made. Nothing in the apartment is missing, but...what the fuck?

He rounds the corner quickly and steps into the bathroom with the bat raised and ready to swing, and Rachel shrieks a little bit.

"Noah!" she cries, resting her hand over her heart. "What on earth are you doing!?"

"What the fuck!? Why's there blood on the floor and what the fuck happened to your feet?"

Her toes are mangled. They're bleeding and red and bruised, and he doesn't know what the hell's going on, but he's waiting for the dread to stop coursing through his veins. The thought of finding her hacked up in the bathtub isn't one that'll leave him alone any time soon.

"Today was my first ballet class since June," she explains. "My feet aren't used to my pointe shoes anymore."

"Jesus Christ, Rach," he says. He watches as she winces and sticks her foot under the running water. A stream of red slips down the drain and he feels helpless. "That's fucked."

"Yes, well, I should have been taking classes all along," she explains. "I was crazy to stop."

"You're crazy to do something that chews up your damn feet like this!"

"I'll be fine," she says, almost laughing. "It's nothing I haven't dealt with before. I just need band-aids and some Polysporin."

He shakes his head and leaves Crazy Rachel in the bathroom.

(She thinks it's sweet that he's so worried.)

----

Rachel's sleeping one night when she's woken up by a crashing sound in the main part of the apartment. She checks the time and it's close to 2:00 am. It's a Friday night, so it's normal that Noah doesn't get home from work until well after midnight. However, he's generally as quiet as he can be so he doesn't wake her.

She's just gotten out of bed, setting her feet on the floor to step out into the hall and see what's going on, but she stops in her tracks.

"Dammit, babe, you can't touch me like that or I'm gonna come in your hand."

She hears his muffled voice and she feels...something. She doesn't know exactly what it is.

Then she hears a giggle and his den/office door slam, and she reaches for her iPod to drown out whatever noises she's sure to hear.

She knows he hasn't been abstinent since they moved. He's just never brought a girl to the apartment before.

It shouldn't bother her.

----

She doesn't go home for Hanukkah, and he tells her that he's not either. She's sure his mother is going to hate her, but he explains that his mom's thrilled that he's living with Rachel, since she always liked the girl so much.

Ms. Puckerman insists she talk to Rachel, and Puck rolls his eyes as he hands over the phone.

Rachel makes a promise that she won't let Noah convince her to break.

They get dressed in nice clothes and head to temple. She's impressed with his grasp of Hebrew, and he smiles at her, because this isn't so bad. Afterward, they head to a nice kosher restaurant for dinner, and he pulls something from his pocket. It's a small rectangular box.

"Noah."

"Just open it," he insists. "It's not much, I just...I noticed you don't wear that necklace anymore. That little XO one or whatever."

"Yes, well, my fathers gave that to me, and the sentiment doesn't necessarily apply anymore," she explains. She opens the box and sees a delicate gold necklace with a small Star of David charm on it. "Noah. It's beautiful." He smiles at her and she shakes her head. "Why did you get me this?"

"It's Hanukkah," he reminds her, as if it's all obvious. "And it's...sentimental."

She doesn't shut up until he tells her the whole story about his stupid dream and her wearing a similar necklace and a white nightgown, and Rachel laughs all the way home.

She gives him Giants tickets for when the Browns (his team) are in town, then apologizes for her gift's lack of sentimental value.

He hugs her anyway, and they eat ice cream from the carton on their sofa and watch Elf until Rachel falls asleep with her legs draped over his.

----

She barges into his room one morning without knocking. It's his one day off this week, and she's running into his room at...11:00. Which, when you've worked until 2:00 am five days in a row, is way too fucking early.

"Goddammit, Rach."

She's straddling his lap, and he's shirtless with the blankets around his waist.

"_I got the part_!" she shouts, and he doesn't know if she really means to bounce a little bit, but she does.

"Huh?"

"I had an audition today!" He blinks up at her, because he doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about. "Oh. Right. You weren't home in time last night for me to tell you. Well, this director came into work yesterday, and I was kind of humming along with the radio, and it was that Rhianna song, you know? Rehab? With Justin Timberlake. But anyway, he heard me singing and asked me to come audition for a part in an off-off-off Broadway thing he's doing. And okay, it's not the best piece of theater in the world, and I'm only a supporting part, and the play only runs for two weeks, but_ I got the part_!"

He smiles up at her and swears he's 16 again, the way she's talking so much and beaming at him. "That's amazing, Rach."

"I know!" she cries. She leans down and wraps her arms around him as best she can, which basically just makes all her good parts rub against all his.

She blushes and pulls away when she feels something between her thighs. She looks at him and he's completely unapologetic.

"It's morning and you woke me up by straddling me. It happens," he says, and her jaw drops. He laughs and raises his brow. "That look? Not helping."

"You're completely disgusting!" she cries, climbing off him. She reaches for the comforter, but he holds it tight in place.

"You don't want to do that," he warns her. "Totally naked, here, babe."

There's a flash in his mind that comes straight from a porno (she takes off her shirt, pulls back the covers and climbs on top of him again.)

Of course, that's not what happens. She's absolutely disgusted and lets out a huff before she walks out of the room and slams the door behind her.

She does _not_ think about what he's doing in there, because he doesn't emerge for another half hour.

----

He goes to opening night of her show and sits in the theater prouder than he probably should be. But there's Rachel, on stage where she belongs, looking beautiful and happy and singing about...whatever. He doesn't really understand the whole play, but he knows she's amazing in it.

She takes him to the cast party and he sits back and sips a beer, watching her as she works the room like a pro.

When they get home, there's a dozen yellow roses in a vase on the table, and he just winks at her and smiles as he heads for his den/office.

He glances over his shoulder just in time to see her close her eyes, smiling, and smell her flowers.

----

He hates his fucking job. It's been eight months or whatever, and he's sick of it. Waiting tables makes him money and stuff, but the people he works with, save for Shane and Vanessa, who both tend bar, are absolute fucking morons. Since he doesn't smoke, he always gets stiffed for breaks, and he's been there longer than almost everyone now, but no one seems to listen to him when he tells them how things should work, so he decides that he needs to move on.

He's reading the newspaper one afternoon and eating fistfuls of Cap'n Crunch right from the box. Rachel's in her room, since she's got the day off too, but it's raining out so they both decided to stay in. A few headlines and photos catch his eye and he furrows his brow.

"What'dya think about me being a cop?" he calls through to her. She pokes her head out her bedroom door and she's smiling. "Serious."

"Serious? That sounds wonderful."

"Shooting fucking criminals? Hell yeah!"

"Actually," she says, walking into the kitchen and sitting across from him. "I was referring to how refreshing it would be for you to be on the right side of the law for a change."

"Hey!" he cries, offended. "I was only arrested _once_, and it was a bogus fucking charge and it was dropped after a couple hours."

"You were arrested?"

Sometimes he forgets that they weren't friends for all of high school.

"Freshman year, after a baseball game. The other team practically jumped us in the parking lot after we schooled them, 18-2. One guy ended up with a busted eye socket and blamed me, but I didn't even throw a punch," he explains. "I was arrested on the spot, and they were gonna charge me with assault, but there were enough witnesses that the charges were dropped."

She smiles and shakes her head, stands and starts back towards her bedroom.

"Seriously!" he shouts after her. "Me. Cop. Yes?"

"Find your passion, Noah!"

Fuck. An honest answer from her would be nice. Just once.

----

He wakes up the next day to, seriously, a _mound_ of information on the NYPD and the police academy and what it takes to apply and get accepted and everything.

There's a post-it with her loopy cursive and a star drawn in the bottom corner.

_'You'd be amazing...' _

----

He gets put back on the lunch shift, which he's actually pretty happy about, so that he has time to work his ass off to get in shape and study for all these tests and physical stuff he has to do before even being considered for the academy. He spends at least an hour and a half a day in the gym, and he manages to become friends with a guy who's a personal trainer, so he basically gets sessions free of charge, with all the tips Brad gives him.

"I am motherfucking _exhausted_!" he announces, stepping into the apartment. He's in a pair of workout shorts and a sleeveless tee shirt that's drenched in sweat, since he decided to jog home. "You're fucking cooking tonight."

He turns his head and sees Finn Hudson standing in his living room with a goofy smile on his face.

"I'm pretty much the master chef of Kraft Dinner and hot dogs," Finn says. Puck crosses the room and hugs his friend. "How are you, man!?"

"I'm...fucking exhausted," he repeats with a laugh. "Dude, what the hell are you doing here?"

"School's done for the year, and I figured, you know, I know some people in New York."

"Speaking of shit that's crazy, where's Rach?" Puck asks, laughing when Finn shakes his head.

"She went out to get food, actually. She said you'd be home soon," Finn says. "Dude, it's so good to see you."

"You too. I stink like a mofo, so I'm gonna shower, but I'll be out in like, 10," Puck says.

He decides it's really nice to have a friendly face around. He loves Rachel (as a friend) and his buddies at work and the gym are cool enough, but Finn's his _boy_. They've known each other since first grade, and they've been through some shit together (like that whole _'Oops, I knocked up your girlfriend'_ thing) but they always come out on top. Other than his mom and his sister, Finn's the person Puck has missed the most. Actually, he hasn't missed anyone else at all, really.

When he steps out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, he sees Rachel and Finn at the dining table, taking Chinese out of the bag (from Puck and Rachel's favourite place). He notices the way Rachel's laughing and how Finn nudges her shoulder when he says something.

Oh, he is going to have to put a stop to this shit right quick.

He heads to his room and pulls on some jeans and a tee shirt, then the three of them eat in the living room, straight from the containers (Puck's finally convinced Rachel that the food tastes better this way). Finn tells him that he just called Rachel that morning and told her he was getting on a bus, and she hadn't been able to get a hold of Puck. His phone died and he'd left it at home to charge.

There's more flirting going on (and seriously, Puck knows how Finn and Rachel flirt; he watched it for long enough.)

When he and Rachel are in the kitchen, him tidying and her grabbing beers from the fridge, he leans down to speak in her ear.

"If you fuck him, you better do it in your own room," he tells her. "I don't want his bare ass anywhere near our 'common areas'."

He can't tell if the look she gives him is a serious scowl or a fake one.

"Is that permission?"

He looks at her like she's nuts. "You don't need my permission."

"He's your best friend," she states.

"And you've fucked him before, so what does it matter?" he asks. He knows all this, because he and Finn pretty much tell one another everything, and Rachel and Finn did date for six months in high school.

There's a part of her, though she doesn't know where it comes from, that almost wishes he'd tell her that it bothers him, the thought of her with someone else.

She doesn't say anything else, just walks back into the living room with three bottles of beer in her hands.

----

Finn spends all three nights he's in New York in Rachel's bedroom.

They do stupid touristy things that Puck and Rachel haven't really gotten a chance to do, and Puck shakes his head at how much of a kid Finn can be sometimes. But he convinces them that the stuffed animal section of F.A.O Schwarz is the best thing they've seen all day, and Puck and Finn decide to buy Rachel a stuffed deer, since it's the state animal of Ohio.

And how Finn knows this, Puck has no idea.

The second night, they get back from wandering through the city, and Puck's grabbing water from the kitchen when he can make out their muffled voices, then Rachel's giggle, then her bedroom door close.

Puck gets drunk on the third night and goes home from the bar with a hot redhead, because frankly, Rachel is fucking loud, and he doesn't need to hear that again.

And he's wondering, since she told him that Matt was (quote) the best she ever had, why she's fucking Finn in the first place, but then he realizes that she hasn't had sex since they moved to New York (not that he knows of) and he figures she's allowed to screw whoever she wants.

He realizes, as he sneaks out of this girl's weird pink and green apartment undetected, that he just doesn't want Rachel to screw...

Anyone.

----

**A/N:** Don't hate...Trust me?


	4. Chapter 4

After they see Finn off at the bus terminal in Brooklyn, they walk together in mostly silence. She's curious as to where he was the night before, and he's curious as to the status of she and Finn's relationship. It doesn't look like much, given that she just kissed the dude on the cheek before he got on the red-eye bus back to Ohio.

They're in their apartment before she decides she's had enough.

"If you have something to say to me, say it."

"I don't. Been making that pretty clear."

"Noah, you've been giving me the silent treatment since you decided to wander in the door this morning."

"Oh, _come on_, Rach," he says, turning towards her with his brow knit. "Don't do that. Don't make it seem like my staying out all night is any worse than you...staying _in_ all night."

"Why does this bother you so much?" she asks, shaking her head. "Why do you care that I slept with Finn?"

There's a part of him that was still denying it happened, right up until the moment she said those words.

"I _don't_ care!" he shouts. "Unlike you, I've got shit to think of other than who you screw and what kind of coffee I have to pour!"

Her lack of any real reaction lets him know that he's taken it too far.

"You're being an asshole right now," she tells him.

(He knows.)

"I am an asshole."

"Not to me, you aren't," she says quietly. She looks to her hand and spins her pinky ring around her finger. He doesn't say anything, and she laughs humourlessly and shakes her head. She makes her way to the door. "If you're going to act like this, I'm not going to be around you."

"Oh, no you fucking don't," he says, stepping in front of her, blocking the doorway. "It's late, and there's no way you're going out there by yourself."

She seethes at him and shoves at his chest (it would make him laugh if he wasn't so pissed.) She turns and stomps towards her bedroom.

"At least you still care!" she shouts before she slams the door.

"I don't!" he yells back. "I just can't take time off work for your fucking _funeral_!"

He closes the door hard behind him (but makes sure he's locked it) and he's so pissed that he wants to punch the shit out of something.

He settles for finding an empty bottle on the street and pitching it as hard as he can, getting satisfaction from the smashing sound it makes on the pavement in the alley next to their building. A passerby says something to him, but he flips the guy off and puts on his 'don't fuck with me' face.

He hasn't had to use this one in a while.

----

She's sitting on the couch when he gets home, watching some creepy black and white movie at 1:30 in the morning. She turns and looks at him, and he actually likes that she can tell when he's drunk or not. (He's not.)

"Why're you up?" he asks, tossing his keys onto the hall table.

"I wanted to make sure you got home okay," she admits. "And I hate going to bed angry."

He sits down next to her on the sofa and smiles at her sorry excuse for pajamas (tiny shorts and a tight tee shirt).

"Sorry I was a prick."

"Sorry I slept with Finn," she almost whispers.

"Honestly, Rach, it's none of my business," he says seriously, angling his body towards hers. "If you want Frankenteen to put it in you..."

"Noah!" she laughs, shoving him away from her.

"I shouldn't have freaked out. I don't know _why_ I freaked out."

"Because you're protective over me," she says, like it's obvious and she's been waiting for him to figure it out. "And I like that."

"But you don't care who I sleep with," he points out.

She tilts her head and smiles weakly. "Noah, most nights you don't come home, I can't sleep, worrying about where you are and if you're okay." He blinks at her and takes a breath. Didn't know that. "And the time you brought a girl here, I..."

"You know about that?"

"You're not exactly quiet."

"You're one to talk," he mutters. She gapes at him. "Please, Rach. No secret you're loud. Figured that'd carry over to sex. Now I just have proof."

Her cheeks flare and she shakes her head. "Anyway," she says as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, "I was...kind of mad at you for that."

"What? Why?" he asks.

"I don't really know," she admits quietly. "Anyway, it's fine. As long as you're not mad at me. Because, frankly, this apartment is too small for us to coexist if you hate me."

"I don't hate you," he says with a laugh. He reaches over and pulls her into a hug. "Go to bed, you freak. You work early."

She gets up from the couch and he notices a yellow bruise on the inside of her thigh as she walks.

The urge to break something is back.

----

He's sitting on the sofa with her, and they're watching So You Think You Can Dance (she loves it and some of the chicks are hot, so he doesn't complain much) when his phone rings. The glare she sends him is a little terrifying.

He goes into his den/office and talks to his coworker for a few minutes, and then smiles as he walks back into the living room and flops down next to her.

"Hey, Rach."

"Shhh!" she hisses. "You know better than to interrupt Adam Shankman!"

He rolls his eyes, but yeah, Adam's the best judge on the show and everyone knows it.

He tries to talk again when Mary's blathering on like a drunk cougar (which, if you as Puck, is exactly what she is), but Rachel clamps her hand over his mouth.

When there's a commercial break, she turns to him with a smile. "Okay. Now you may speak."

"Rachel Berry, _I_ have just gotten _you_ an audition," he states proudly. Her whole face lights up and it makes him laugh.

"_What?_"

"Yeah. Vanessa, you know, who works at the bar? Her boyfriend is like, a casting agent for this theater company, and they're looking for a female lead for something," he explains. He thinks she's about to cry or something. "He just called. Tomorrow at 10. Someplace called the BAM Theater?"

"Oh. My. God!" she cries, launching herself at him. "You are the best thing in the whole world!" He laughs and wraps his arms around her, simply because she hasn't given him much of a choice.

Then she takes his face in her hands and plants a quick kiss on his lips before turning back to the television.

The show's back on.

His lips taste like strawberries now.

----

She gets the part (of course she does) and he convinces her it's a night for celebratory tequila at the little Mexican place on Bedford.

They get really good and drunk, and when she's hungover the next morning, she doesn't even complain.

She lays on the couch and he lays on the floor, and they flip a coin over who has to go get more Gatorade.

He wins, but he goes anyway.

She runs after him and says she needs fresh air, and she links her arm through his and they both wince every time a loud truck passes them.

----

He struts into the coffee shop when she's working one day. Though she's down to three days a week, since the theater company takes up a lot of her time and supplements her income, she still pours coffee. It's not ideal, really, since it means she works at least six days a week, but she doesn't really mind the money she makes.

She smiles when she sees him, and she's halfway through pouring him a cup of his regular when she notices that there's something...off about him. But off in a good way.

"What?" she asks, leaning towards him, resting her elbows on the counter.

"Guess who just got accepted to the motherfucking NY-fucking-PD Police Academy?" he asks.

Her eyes get all big and wide and she reaches for him over the counter. She makes a total scene, since she's practically kneeling on the counter, but her manager (a totally gay dude) loves Puck so he just laughs, and the customers all smile, though they're clueless.

"Noah," she breathes into his ear. She pulls away and sets herself down on her feet. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, babe," he says with a wink, taking the coffee cup in his hands. "Hey, I gotta go to work, but don't make plans for tonight."

"I won't."

He's walking towards the door and he calls over his shoulder. "I'll be home around 7:00. I'm feelin' Chinese!"

She laughs. He's always feeling Chinese.

She blushes when she notices everyone staring at her, and wipes the counter down to give herself something to do.

----

"How many women have you been with?"

He chokes on his Rice Krispies.

"What?"

"Noah, you heard me perfectly clearly. How many?" she asks with a shrug as she cradles her coffee cup in her hand. She loves these Sunday mornings, because neither of them work, and it's her day off from dance class and his day off from working out.

"I dunno," he says.

"Liar! You do too!" she insists.

"It's...a big number. But I'm safe, and I get tested every six months," he explains.

"You do?" she asks in shock.

"Fuck yeah. No one likes the clap, Rach."

"You're so disgusting. Seriously," she says after taking another sip of her drink.

"You ever been tested?" he asks.

"No!" she cries in horror. "I've only been with two men, so..."

"Right," he says, tipping back in his chair. "But how many people have they been with? And how many people have those people been with? Sex is a risky game, Rach. One minute you're riding your ex, and the next, it hurts when you pee." She looks completely shocked and disgusted, and it makes him smile. "I'm due soon. Come with."

"I'm fine. I don't have any problems...in that area," she says delicately. "And I am a stickler for safety. Unprotected sex is an epidemic in our generation."

"Suit yourself. Peace of mind, though," he says, getting up to put his bowl in the sink.

They get dressed and spend the day in Battery Park (her favourite park). He reads from one of the books on police training he's got, and she practices a monologue for an audition she has coming up.

When she walks into his room in the evening as he's playing guitar and says, "let's do it," it takes him a good 30 seconds to realize what she's talking about.

The results come in on a Wednesday, and they go out for (what he calls) a _We're Both Clean!_ dinner.

----

He gives her yellow roses again when her next production opens. He actually understands the play this time, so they have a little chat about it, and he pretends he totally caught all the metaphors and symbolism she rattles off.

She kisses his lips, quick, friendly, before she goes to bed.

She starts doing that sometimes. He doesn't much mind.

----

Another year passes by in a haze. He's busy with his training and studying and target practices and everything, and she's in three more plays.

She's graduated from off-off-off Broadway to just off Broadway. Her latest role is a musical adaptation of The Notebook, and she plays Allie. Her southern accent makes him totally hot, and she just laughs when he tells her so. But every time she says _"It was real, wasn't it? You and me. Such a long time ago, we were just a couple of kids. But we really loved each other, didn't we?"_ he finds himself hanging on her every damn word and like, caring and stuff.

He graduates from the Academy in June, and his mother and sister fly in for the ceremony. The three women sit there all beaming with pride as he stands in uniform and officially completes his program.

Rachel offers up her room to Noah's mom and sister, because it's bigger and cleaner and nicer, and after some convincing it's all settled that Rachel will sleep on the sofa for the two nights their company is in town.

She's laying awake on the first night, unable to sleep because of the excitement of the day or something, and she notices a sliver of light fall into the room, then she hears footsteps. She sits up and looks over to see Noah in a pair of McKinley sweat pants and no shirt, rubbing his eye with his hand.

"Shit," he says quietly. "Sorry."

"No, I was awake," she tells him. He walks over to the couch and extends his hand, and she laughs softly and lets him pull her up. They head into the kitchen and he grabs two bottles of water. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I was sleeping. I woke up."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," he says. He loves that she can tell when he's being honest. "What's with you? You know, you really didn't have to give up your room."

"I'm not going to make your mother sleep on the sofa," she says, laughing softly.

"I could have," he says, shrugging his shoulder.

"It's no problem. It's only two nights."

"And yet, you're wide awake at three in the morning," he says, raising his brow. "C'mon. Sleep with me." She blinks rapidly and he rolls his eyes. "Seriously, you think if I wanted to put a move on, I'd use that line?"

"I'm sure you've used it before," she says, giggling when he scowls. (That's a yes.)

"My bed's comfortable. And warm. And has my sexy ass sleeping in it."

"Noah, I'm not sure if..."

Too late. He's got his arm around her shoulder as he walks back to his den/office. He's too strong, and she doesn't even have a chance to pull away or say no. He pushes her gently onto the bed and then shuts the door, and he swears that the look she gives him, if she were anyone else, would have him pulling her clothes off.

(What the hell?)

He lays down and pulls the covers over them, then switches off the light.

He feels her tense when he presses his chest to her back and rests his hand on her thigh. "Goodnight, Rachel."

She lets out a little sigh that has him smiling, and says softly, "goodnight, Noah."

----

She doesn't think she's supposed to overhear it, but when she wakes up in Noah's bed alone, he's in the kitchen talking with his mother.

"All I'm saying, baby, is that Rachel is the _sweetest_ girl," Aviva says.

"Yeah, ma, I know. Which is why we're best friends," he says. Rachel can practically picture him rolling his eyes. "And you know, this is New York City. She's not the only hot Jew around."

Rachel smiles and pulls the covers up over herself. She knows Noah finds her attractive, but it's always nice to hear him say it. Which he does. Frequently.

"One of these days, Noah, you'll wake up and realize that Rachel Berry is the one for you."

Rachel feels something stir in her stomach and spread outward. It's like a cold chill, but _more_. And that doesn't even make any sense, but it's the only way she can describe it.

Here she is, laying in his bed, in his den/office that smells like him with all his stuff around, and his mother is telling him these things. Rachel doesn't know what that means.

But there's a part of her that thinks she wouldn't mind if it meant something.

"Whatever," he says. "Don't burn my eggs."

Rachel laughs to herself and rolls onto her back. She figures she can get a little more sleep.

But then Noah taps on the door and pushes it open. She's a little surprised when he walks in and practically lays on top of her.

"Breakfast. Mom cooked. Get up or I'mma eat it all," he says quickly, then kisses her cheek and gets up again.

He shoots her a wink before he slips out of the room.

She spends the next day and a half pretending that she doesn't know that Aviva Puckerman wants her son to settle down. With Rachel.

----

One of her costars asks her out on a date. He's been flirting with her for a while, she supposes, and when he walks up to her after rehearsal one day, he asks her to go to dinner with him.

She politely declines.

(She goes home instead, and eats leftover baked spaghetti while another boy plays guitar on the sofa next to her.)


	5. Chapter 5

Her director owns a place in the Hamptons, and come the beginning of August, he tells her she needs to get away for the weekend, places the keys in her palm and tells her that her understudy can handle three days.

And she can't really say she'd hate a break. She's been doing five shows a week and two shifts at the coffee shop. She needs to get away.

She's packing a bag when Noah gets home, and he walks into her bedroom and flops down on her bed before he even notices.

"What a fucking day," he says. He's still waiting for a spot on the NYPD, so working at the restaurant and performing an occasional set here or there is all he can really do. "What's this?"

He nudges her bag with his leg and she laughs. "I'm going away."

"Where?"

"Hamptons."

"Really?" he asks, and she nods as she reaches for her bathing suit. "Fuckin' right. When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning," she explains. "Victor gave me the keys to his house. I'm going to take the Jitney."

"What the fuck's the Jitney?" he asks.

She laughs and shakes her head at him. "The bus that goes to the Hamptons," she explains. She moves around her room, gathering things like underwear (which she sees him eyeing like a total dog) and sunscreen and her makeup. "Come with me."

"What?" He's smiling at her, though, as he lays with his hand behind his head.

"Come with me. It'll be fun. Apparently this place is massive. Frankly, I think we could both use a break from the stress we've been under."

"I'm supposed to work," he says regrettably. He fakes a cough and a little pout. "But I _have_ been feeling pretty sick."

She squeals and hops onto the bed, her body aligning with his as she sort of hugs him. He can only laugh at her, because she's a little crazy. But he likes her like this. And he'd be remiss not to mention that he likes her on top of him.

"Go pack!" she cries, climbing off him. She tugs on his arm and he laughs as he gets up and stands in front of her. She literally pushes him out her bedroom door. "And pack sensibly. I don't need to see you in that sorry excuse for a pair of jeans that you've had since high school."

"Those jeans are perfectly worn in!" he cries. "Screw you! I'm bringin' 'em."

"And pack shirts!" she shouts as he walks into his den/office.

He flips her the bird for good measure (really, does she think he wouldn't pack shirts? okay, so he hates wearing them in summer when it's a billion freaking degrees and crazy humid), and she laughs before she goes back into her own room.

When she wakes up in the morning, she heads to his side of the apartment to wake him, but he's not there. His packed bag is sitting by the door, and his cell is sitting on the table in the hall. He's not in the bathroom, and he's not in the kitchen, though there are chocolate croissants sitting on the table. She takes a bite and gets really, really angry, because he knows she hates straying from her itinerary.

When she steps out of the shower, he's sitting on the sofa watching SportsCenter, and she scowls at him.

"Where have you been? We're going to be late! What are you doing?"

"Relax, babe, we're not gonna be late for anything," he says, holding up a set of keys and dangling them between his fingers. "Shane's letting me borrow his Beamer."

"That car is 10 years old," she says disgustedly.

"It's 6 years old, and it's fucking sweet, Rach," he insists. "The guy treats that thing better than I treat anything." She smiles and raises her brow, and it's like she's asking _'even me?' _without saying the words. "Plus, it's a convertible, and I look fucking hot driving it."

She rolls her eyes and crosses the apartment to step into her bedroom and get dressed. He doesn't (yes, he does) stare at her legs as she walks. It's habit. He can't help it.

She learns that he's been up since 6:00. He went to the gym, picked up the car from Shane's place, stopped off for some groceries to take with them, and made a mix CD of 'driving songs'.

And she has to admit, the mix he's made is very fitting. There's a little bit of everything, and they both sing along as they drive towards their destination with the top down and the wind whipping Rachel's hair around. She rests her hand on his seat behind his shoulder, and he thinks he likes it.

Their first day is spent at the (_huge_) house, swimming and playing tennis (on their personal court) and barbecuing on the amazing outdoor grill. She sips white wine and he sips beer at night after dark. They're lounging on deck chairs and talking about...whatever.

The second day, they go into town and mess around for a while, trying to figure out who the locals are and who the seasonals are. It's a silly game that turns into Puck pointing out which cougars are the hottest, and Rachel rolls her eyes and grabs his hand to pull him down the sidewalk with her.

And maybe it's a bit of a possessive move, too.

They buy the makings for margaritas and tacos, and by 9:00, they're both _totally_ drunk. Maybe because they decided to go for a swim when they got home, which pushed back dinner. Which they still haven't eaten, since Rachel wanted to shower, and Puck told her he wasn't doing all the cooking on his own.

But that's what he's doing anyway. Only because Rachel makes way better margaritas than he does, and so he put her in charge of that, and now they've each been drinking on an empty stomach.

She's sitting on top of the counter, heels bouncing off the cupboards as she kicks her legs. She's wearing criminally tiny shorts and a little white tee shirt, which kind of matches Noah's jeans (_those_ jeans) and plain white tee shirt. She sips her drink as she watches him move around the kitchen, sautéing whatever and chopping vegetables.

She doesn't know she's let out a noise (one from the back of her throat; one that is definitely in appreciation of the way his muscles move as he works) until he turns around and looks at her with a raised brow.

Her cheeks are red and she's biting the inside of her cheek. And if he's not mistaken, her eyes were totally on his ass when he first glanced over.

And here he was thinking he was the only one doing the checking out. (The girl's bikinis are, in a word or two,_ fucking amazing_.)

"Easy, Berry," he says gruffly. He turns around and leans back against the counter across from her, and she hands him a margarita glass. He doesn't take it, just leans forward and she tips it towards him so he can take a sip. He's a little surprised that she hasn't said anything in response to his words. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

"I'm not."

"Lame answer," he laughs. "What?"

She shrugs, and he smiles and shakes his head before turning back around and tending to their food once more. She watches him toss a piece of tomato into his mouth, and she doesn't think the tequila is to blame for the heat running through her body right now.

She reaches for a corn chip and scoops some salsa, then takes a bite, and she decides then and there that it's been too long since she's had sex. (Finn. And that was an embarrassing amount of time ago.)

"It's been too long," she says.

"Since what?" he asks obliviously, barely casting a glance over his shoulder.

"Since...Finn," she tells him. She's sipping her drink when he turns around again, wiping his hands on the towel he's got draped over his shoulder. "Since..."

"You haven't gotten off since Finn?" he asks, his eyebrows raised. The way she bites her bottom lip lets him know that's not the truth.

"Well, that's not entirely accurate," she says coyly. He crosses his arms and moves to stand in front of her. He really doesn't miss the way she parts her knees, but he doesn't step in between them, because he doesn't know what the fuck this is right now. "I haven't been with anyone since him."

"You mean we've lived together for years, and I'm only finding out now that you...take care of yourself?" he asks.

"Why would I have told you before?" she says with a giggle. She sets her hands on edge of the counter next to her knees and it pushes her towards him a little. "There are some things a girl needs to keep secret."

"So much for that idea," he says, one brow raised. "When?"

"You're out a lot, Noah," she reminds him.

He takes a breath (there's a part of him that almost feels guilty that he's out a lot, but that's weird). "I don't know _why_ you're telling me this, but I fucking like it."

She hooks her heels around the back of his thighs and forces him to step closer. He's still not touching her with his hands (but he fucking_ wants to_). She leans in a little bit, their faces only inches apart, and she notices the way his eyes flick down to her lips.

"It's been too long, Noah," she repeats quietly.

In one swift motion, he's got his lips on hers, his hands on her hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter so she's pressed against him. He tastes like lime and tequila, but she can't get enough of him. His tongue enters her mouth, and she's a little surprised by how gently he moves it against her own. It's an extreme juxtaposition to how tightly his hands are holding her hips. She runs her hands over his head, her nails gently scraping the skin at the nape of his neck, and she smiles when he moans into her mouth.

He doesn't know why she's doing this. Well, he does, apparently. He doesn't know why him, or why now. He finds that he doesn't care, not in the least. She presses her chest against his when he drags his lips down her neck and his hands slip beneath her shirt at the small of her back. Her skin is hot and tight and smooth, and when he grabs the bottom of her shirt to pull it over her head, she's smiling when she pulls away to let him.

Her hands grab onto the sides of his shirt to pull him back towards her, and she wraps her legs tighter around his waist so his hips are aligned with hers. At his sharp intake of breath, she shifts just slightly and giggles when he nips at her collarbone with his teeth, then soothes the spot with his tongue.

He pulls his tee shirt off and drops it onto the floor next to hers, and she whines when he moves away from her so he can switch off the stove. It's a shock to her, how much she misses him, hard and thick between her thighs.

"I'm not going to have sex in my boss's kitchen," she says as his lips land upon her neck again.

His hands find her ass and he lifts her off the counter.

She knows she should insist on him tracking down contraception, but he posts his 'test' results on the fridge like report cards when he gets them, and she's on the pill, and frankly, her head is spinning with far too much lust right now. That's a terrible excuse, but she _needs_ him. _Now_.

They make it to the living room floor, and when he lays her down, her thighs are like a vice around his hips, holding him in place so he can't get her naked yet. He curses when she angles her hips just right against him.

"Fuck, Rachel," he breathes out. He feels like a _teenager_, he's so turned on right now. "You can't fucking do that."

She gets a wicked grin on her face and reaches between them for his fly. "But I want to."

She uses her feet to push his jeans and boxers down his legs, and he drags her sorry excuse for a pair of shorts off her hips. She arches her back when he presses his hand to her through her panties. He can feel how wet she is even now, and he wonders how long she's wanted this, but then she's pushing her underwear down, and he grins lecherously at her impatience.

He sinks into her without much warning, and he doesn't apologize when she cries out in pleasure/pain. He knows he should probably give her a second before he starts moving, but it's like he's possessed by her, by needing her, and she's tight (_so fucking tight_) around him, and he can't help himself.

If he had known _this_ was going to be _like__ this_ with her, he would have done it ages ago. Like...when he was 17. It's the wrong fucking time to think of it, but he hates (_hates_) that two of his closest friends had her first, so he brings his mouth to her neck, just below her ear, and he sucks gently until she says his name and he's sure he's marked her skin.

He's got one goal, and one goal only. He wants to make her come so hard that she has to admit that he's the best she's ever had. Because he fucking _is_, and he knows it. It's no surprise she's a talker (he loves women who talk), but when she locks eyes with him, her hands running down his back, and tells him to fuck her, he thinks she doesn't know what she's asking for.

She knew he'd be good. It's pretty much a given by now that he's something of a sex god. Finding out, feeling it, first hand is a whole different experience. He's perfect, a prime specimen, she'd think, if she had any grasp of proper brain function right now. But all she can feel is him filling her, his lips on her (everywhere they can reach) and the heat building in her stomach. And she knows he's given her a hickey just below her ear, but she thinks that's actually really sexy, even if she doesn't know why he did it.

And his self control is astonishing. Given the way this started and how quickly it progressed, she thought for sure it'd be over in (amazing, blissful) minutes. She should have known better. He's driven her to the edge no less than four times, only to pull back (or out) and then start all over again.

"Oh, god," she moans when he hitches her leg up a little higher, hitting her deeper. "Fuck. _Noah_."

He smirks down at her and kisses her heatedly. Those two words in succession from her swollen lips are pretty much mind blowing. He can't hold out any longer. He reaches down between them and rubs her just right, and then she's arching her back and calling out his name again, taking him with her. She comes so hard that she bites down on his shoulder, which he thinks is _really_ fucking hot.

They're both breathing heavily, and she's happy that he doesn't make any moves to get off her. She likes his weight on her, heavy and warm. Her hands run over his shoulders, then down his back again, and he pulls his head away from her neck so he can grin down at her. Her lids are heavy, and he's pretty damn proud of _that_ particular look on her face (_thoroughly fucked_, if he had to label it). He kisses her, and he feels her squeeze her thighs against his hips.

"So much for foreplay," he mumbles against her neck. She laughs and tugs on his earlobe with her teeth, saying something about 'later', and he's already growing hard inside her again, which he wasn't sure was even possible.

"This is crazy," she says, laughing softly at the position they've found themselves in.

"It's fucking _hot_, Rach," he insists. His hand comes up to caress her breast, and he moves his hips a couple times, just enough to make her moan. "And you wanted it."

"You did too."

He kisses her. "Fuck yeah." She rests one hand on his bicep and the other at the back of his neck, kissing him lazily. "What now?"

She kisses a line from his lips to the hinge of his jaw, licking the shell of his ear teasingly. "Again."

----

Post-Sex Rachel likes to cuddle, and Noah likes to let her.


	6. Chapter 6

Puck knows he isn't an easy guy to avoid.

Rachel's accomplishing it in winning fashion.

She's busy, he knows, which is fine, but she's always sleeping when he gets home (he's pushed her door open and peeked in at her, just to be sure she was home safely) and when their paths do cross, it's when he's heading somewhere or she's heading somewhere. He knows all this is by design.

Which sucks, because he's got things to say to her.

He hears her coming down the hall one day, talking on her phone to someone, and he stands in the front hall of their apartment and crosses his arms so he's the first thing she sees when she opens the door.

"Kurt, I just got home. I'll call you back," she says. She doesn't wait for an answer before she hangs up and drops her phone and keys on the hall table. "Hello."

"Hey, Rach," he says, grinning at her obvious discomfort. "Fancy meeting you here. God, what has it been? Years?"

She lifts her eyes to meet his and sees his smile, and it bothers her. "You're very funny, Noah," she says dryly. "I've been busy."

"You've been freaking out because of what happened," he answers as she breezes past him and towards the kitchen.

"I have not."

"Have too."

"Have not!" she says, spinning around to look at him. He's leaning against the door frame and has one brow raised. "This could go on forever. Noah, I've got rehearsals, and shows, and I put in my two weeks' notice at the coffee shop, which David is not happy about, and I have an audition for a lead _on Broadway_ next week, and I'm really, really trying not to blow it, okay? So if I've been avoiding you, it's because I _cannot_ handle having the conversation that we both know we need to have."

"When'd you get that audition?" he asks, his brow knit. Maybe he would have heard about it earlier if she wasn't acting like he doesn't exist.

"Tuesday. Roman came into the theater with the casting call," she says. "The director apparently has seen The Notebook and isn't making me go for the open call. It's basically a call back, which is kind of amazing, because that's never happened to me before, and you know, maybe if I..."

"You're rambling."

"I do that."

"Really?" he asks, deadpan. "I didn't know that about you."

"It would be really great if we could just skip all this strange tension," she says seriously.

"Tension which you created by seducing the fuck out of me. Literally. Several times," he says, laughing when she rolls her eyes. "C'mon, Rachel. We can't ignore this any more. Time to face the music. We slept together."

She looks downward, and it annoys him, because he's pretty sure this conversation isn't going to end up with them getting together. And honestly, he's not even sure if he wants them to be together. He knows she's awesome, his best friend for the last couple of years. And he knows that sex with her was the best sex he's ever had, which, let's be honest, can cloud a guy's judgment when it comes to relationships.

Example: Does he like having sex? Yes. Does he like having sex with Rachel? Yes. Is he 100% certain that they can keep having sex without fucking up their friendship? No.

That's pretty much the conclusion he's come to.

"I know. And it was lovely, but..."

"Lovely?" he asks incredulously. "Rachel, you let me bend you over the back of the couch. _Lovely_ isn't the right word."

Her cheeks flush red and she looks to the ground, but he doesn't really care, because he figures that they don't have any secrets any more. He's seen (kissed) every inch of her, and she shouldn't be getting embarrassed now.

"I can't have this conversation right now," she says quietly, shaking her head.

"Rachel."

"No." She closes the refrigerator door and twists the cap off her bottle of water. "I can't. I have lines to run, and I have to do laundry, and I just can't."

"Well, you're gonna."

"What are you going to do? Tie me to a chair?" Something sparkles in his eyes and she rolls her own. "If we're doing this, all that has to stop. I'm serious. I _can't_ handle it right now."

He realizes for the first time just how stressed she is. Yes, she's been avoiding him, but she's just been busy too. And he thinks there might be tears in her eyes or something, so he hugs her before he has to see them fall.

"C'mere," he says, leading her through to the sofa. "I don't know what you're thinking about this."

It sounds lame, even to him.

She lets out a sigh and takes a drink of water. "I'm thinking that you're far too important to me to lose over...over the night we had in the Hamptons." She runs her hand through her hair. "And you know me. I've never, ever done anything like that before in my life. I've been with two men, and I was in committed relationships with both."

"Our relationship is committed," he says with the sweetest smile she's seen from him in weeks. "Maybe not the same way, but it is."

She smiles back at him. "Yes, well, I don't know that we should enter into a romantic relationship. We run the risk of hurting one another and messing everything up, and I just honestly don't know what I want, but I know I want this. You, and our friendship. And it's not that I regret the night we had, which I'm sure is how I sound. That night was amazing..."

"_Yeah_, it was," he says, grinning wolfishly. She ignores it.

"But I just don't know...I don't know," she says. He watches a tear fall down her cheek, and he remembers how much he hates seeing her cry.

"That's cool, Rach," he says, trying to calm her down a little bit. "I was pretty much thinking the same thing, so...no worries."

"Really?" she asks hopefully. He nods and opens his arm to her, and she leans against him, her head resting on his shoulder. "Good."

He kisses the top of her head, because it seems like the right time to do it, but he knows her too well to think that she's crying over this, especially when they've actually just agreed that they're on the same page.

(That page being; they had great sex, an awkward period, both realized a relationship is too risky.)

"So what else is going on with you?" he asks knowingly. She laughs and wipes at her cheeks.

"My dad called me yesterday."

"What?" He sounds pissed, and she pulls away so she can face him. "What the fuck did he want?"

"He and daddy are having a party for their 25th anniversary. And they're having a commitment ceremony," she explains. She watches his face go hard with anger. "They want me to go home and be a witness."

"So they want you to support them, but they don't feel the need to support you?" he asks indignantly. "No fucking way. You're not going."

She actually smiles and curls up against him again. "I miss them," she admits. He hasn't ever heard her say that, not once in the years they've been away. "But I'm _so_ mad at them."

"I know."

"And not once have they called and asked me how I'm doing. I know your mother tells them, but it's not the same. They haven't taken an interest in my work or anything, and I know they know I'm performing. They don't care about me, but they expect me to head home and attend their event?"

He doesn't know what to say. "I'm sorry."

"I know," she whispers, wiping at her eyes again. "But they're my dads. Isn't it awful if I don't go?"

"Fuck that," he says seriously. "Rachel, you...this might sound shitty, but you don't need them. You've proven that. If they're gonna be selfish pricks, then they can fucking go for it, but you don't have to deal with that."

She wraps her arms around his waist and he reaches for the remote. "Thanks, Noah," she says quietly. "For understanding everything."

"No probs," he says, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "Now shut it. Knicks game starts in 5 and I bet Shane 50 bucks they're gonna lose by more than 10 points."

She laughs and shakes her head, then gets up and tells him she's ordering Chinese.

All the tension is gone. Just like that.

----

He doesn't know why he didn't tell her his other piece of news.

But then he comes up with an awesome plan and he decides keeping it to himself a little longer isn't the worst thing.

----

He walks into the coffee shop one day, and yes, he waited outside for 10 minutes, standing across the street, until she went into the back room for something. This is the kind of surprise she's going to love.

David, who seems to be a little less pissed about losing Rachel as an employee, lets out a whistle and looks Puck up and down.

"Rach, sweetie, you better get out here," he calls through the swinging door.

"You just told me to..."

"Honey, the most gorgeous specimen _ever_ just walked through the doors. Be still my heart."

"David, you say that 15 times a day. I don't see why you..." She stops talking when she sees Noah standing there in a perfect-fitting NYPD uniform, complete with the hat and the badge and everything.

"Told you!" David sings before he slips into the back room. Puck's glad the place is quiet.

"Is it Halloween?" Rachel asks, stepping out from behind the counter.

"All real, baby," Puck says. Her face breaks into a wide smile and she throws her arms around him. "If you feel something against your hip, it's just my gun," he whispers in her ear. She swats him on the chest as she pulls away. "Hey, now! I could arrest you for assaulting an officer."

Her chin quivers just a little bit and she shakes her head. "You're really a police officer?"

"I found out a few days ago. Just made it all official today. Badge and stuff," he says nonchalantly. She can tell he's totally downplaying how happy he is.

"You have no idea how proud I am," she says, slipping her hands into his. He winks at her and she beams. "Hey David! You think I could..."

"Get out, you little traitor," David says from his place behind the counter. Rachel laughs, since he already knew what she was going to ask. "I swear, if you hadn't already quit, I'd fire you."

She throws her apron at him and smiles at Noah when he holds the door open for her.

On the walk home, he tells her all the details, how tomorrow is his first official day as a rookie cop and he's scared out of his mind. She insists that he's going to be great, and if nothing else, he'll at least look really good on the calendar.

He drops his hat onto her head as they turn onto their street, and she laughs, but doesn't take it off.

He thinks it might just look better on her anyway.

----

His first day in the field is uneventful. Or so he's told. His partner is a 45 year old veteran who, on his first day, worked a double homicide and an aggravated assault case, both of which went to trial.

Puck (and yeah, the nickname earns him a little cred from the guys) and Jay answer a breaking and entering at a bodega in the early morning, then break up a couple drug deals in the afternoon. They spend most of the day driving around, cruising the streets of New York as Jay gives 'the kid' pointers and lets him know what he should expect.

He gets a text during his last hour.

_I GOT THE PART!!!!! I'M ON BROADWAY!!!!!!_

He smiles to himself and looks out the window.

Best day ever.

----

She's terrified for her first day of rehearsals, but the tattered pages of her script and sheet music remind her that she's ready for this. She's known Annie Get Your Gun since she was nine and performed a dance recital to a medley of the music. She can do this.

She shows up ready to _work_, so focused that even the director chuckles and tells her to relax, that this is their first rehearsal and it's just a table read. She reminds him how committed she is. (_"Why do you think we gave you the part?" _he says.)

Her costars are impressed, and she smiles genuinely when they welcome her to the show and tell her how much they're looking forward to performing with her. It seems her reputation precedes her, and she feels like a star. It's all she ever wanted.

Her male lead is a handsome man, about 28, clean shaven and sweet and a killer smile. He asks her if she wants to grab a coffee, and she takes a raincheck.

She and Noah have plans that include his homemade chili, cornbread, and a football game.

She still thinks that sounds like more fun than just about anything in the world.

----

"Hey, Rach?" Puck asks quietly, appearing in the doorway to her room. "I, uh...I have something for you."

"If this is more 'gun as penis' humour, it's getting old," she says, not even bothering to look up from her computer screen.

"No," he laughs. "But this came for you today."

He hands over a FedEx envelope, and she glares at him. "You opened my mail?!"

"It's from your dads. Fuck them if they think I'm not going to intervene," he says bluntly.

"Opening someone else's mail is a federal offense, Noah!"

He rolls his eyes as he sits down next to her on her bed. "I'm above the law now," he teases.

She lets out a frustrated huff and pulls the contents from the envelope. (She doesn't hate that he already knows what it is.) She holds in her hands two plane tickets and a letter written on familiar letterhead.

"Did you read this?" she asks him quietly.

"Yeah," he says. "But only because I was going to burn the fucking thing if it said something assy."

She laughs a little and opens the paper. "Dear Rachel. I assume you've heard our messages and read our emails, but we have yet to hear back from you. The only saving grace is that Aviva is kind enough to tell us that you're still alive and well," she reads. Noah scoffs, though he's already read this letter. "Maybe it's a lot to ask, since time has passed since things were said, but we'd love it if you would come to our ceremony, three weeks from Saturday. We know you're angry, but we love you, and we miss you terribly. Please come. Bring Noah; Aviva would be thrilled to have him home. Consider it, sweetie. It would mean the world. Love, Dad and Daddy."

Puck stares at her for a moment as she processes the words she's read. He can see tears in her eyes, and he's sure she's going to pack a bag any second, or at least pick up the phone and call her family.

Instead, she rips up the letter and tosses it into the garbage, then hands the tickets to him.

"If you want to go home and see your mom, use the tickets. I'm not going."

"Rach..."

"Noah, did you read anywhere in that letter that they're proud of me? That they're sorry?" she asks angrily, her eyes clouded with tears. "No. They don't care about my life, so I'm not going to care about theirs."

"But they..."

"_Don't_ make excuses for them!" she shouts. He doesn't think he's ever made her so angry. And he hasn't even said anything. The saving grace is that he knows she's not really angry at him. "They just want me there so we look like a perfect family. Well, _guess what_? We're not! We _haven't_ been since three and a half years ago, when they let me leave, scared and _on my own_, for all they knew, without even telling me they loved me!" (He's never really felt true heartbreak before. He thinks this is it.) "This letter is the first time they've said the words since before I left home, Noah. I won't be guilted into going to their stupid ceremony that they don't even need! I'm busy. I have rehearsals and a life here. Not that _they'd_ know! I'm not going. I'm _not_."

"Okay," he says, pulling her towards him. She's scaring the shit out of him right now. She's hysterical, taking big, gulping breaths as tears roll down her cheeks. He pulls her onto his lap and wraps his arms around her. "It's okay. You don't have to go, Rach. No one's gonna make you."

She clutches to the front of his shirt, balls it in her fist as he runs his hand over her back and tries to make her feel better.

"If I don't go...this is the end," she says, like it's a fact and there's no room for leeway. "They'll never forgive me."

"Can you ever forgive them?" he asks delicately, because the last thing he wants is for her to freak out at him, too.

She's quiet for a minute as she thinks it over. All she remembers is the fight and the words they said and her getting into a cab without them trying to stop her.

"No."

"Then fuck 'em," he says. "Fuck them, Rachel." She knows what he's saying, what he's not saying. She's crying again, because she's effectively cutting all ties, and all hope, from her only family. "You don't need them. So fuck it. We'll fuckin'...I dunno. We'll do something that day. Crash someone else's wedding or drink until we puke or something."

She laughs tearfully and wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt, pulling away from him a little bit. "Responsible, Officer Puckerman."

(He always beams a little when he hears her call him that.)

"You okay?" he asks after a couple seconds.

She nods, then wraps her arms tighter around him. "Yeah. Just don't move."

He feels a rush that he really shouldn't when she says that. And he doesn't really listen anyway. He picks her up so he's carrying her, then maneuvers them so they're laying down on her bed, her all curled into his arms.

He doesn't even make a 'gun as penis' joke when she drapes her leg over his.


	7. Chapter 7

The next time Bradley asks her if she wants to go for coffee, she accepts.

They sit in the back of a little café for five hours, talking about their lives and the show and where they grew up. He tells her he's originally from Memphis, and she laughs when he puts on an accent.

She tells him she's from Ohio, but New York is her home.

----

She gets home from that coffee and Noah is asleep on the couch with an old episode of Family Guy playing in the background. She kisses his forehead and covers him over with a blanket before switching off the television and heading to bed.

She hears him get up 20 minutes later and walk through the apartment to his den/office, and she wonders if he was awake the whole time.

Then she wonders why her heart and mind and body think that matters in the slightest.

----

Bradley kisses her one night when he walks her to the subway so she can get home after practice.

It feels good. It feels right. But it's not prefect.

She lets him anyway, and she kisses him back, because she likes him, quite a lot actually.

Noah is working the night shift, and she spends her sleepless evening tossing and turning, alternating between thoughts of the new man in her life, and worry over the only constant in it.

----

Puck hates working nights. He's getting the hang of a sleep schedule, and Rachel is totally understanding of his need to sleep during the day. If she's home, she'll stay in her room and be totally quiet, and she even sewed up darker curtains to hang in his den/office to keep the light out.

Working nights also sucks because there's way more shit that goes down in the world at night, which he's learned very quickly.

And yeah, he hates that when he has the night shift, he rarely ever gets to see his roommate. She's not home when he is, or if she is, he's sleeping. When he gets home, they might talk for 20 minutes, but then he crashes and she walks out the door for rehearsal.

When he walks in at 7:30 one morning after working a 10 hour shift, the last thing he expects to see is Rachel in some dude's shirt in the kitchen, with the dude shirtless and standing with his arms around her, kissing her neck.

Noah doesn't say hello.

----

Rachel heard Noah come in that morning, but she was afraid to turn and look at him, fearful of the expression that might have been on his face upon seeing her with another man.

A man who, though she'd been on several dates with and shared many kisses with, she hadn't told Noah about.

He avoids her for a few days, and when he gets two days off, he informs her that he's going out with the guys and he's not sure when he'll be home, if at all.

She stays at Brad's place in the West Village that night, but her mind is elsewhere.

----

He fucks a girl in the bathroom of some weird modern Manhattan bar.

Her brown hair is too short and her dark eyes aren't big enough and her hips are too wide.

But if he squints just right...

----

When he walks into the apartment around 1:00 the next day, Rachel is sipping a cup of tea, sitting on the sofa and leafing through a magazine. He doesn't know why that pisses him off, why _she_ pisses him off.

Maybe it's because she's so pretty, so nice, so close to him. Maybe it's because someone else is calling her pretty, and she's being nice to _him_, and she's drifting away a little bit. He can feel it, has felt it ever since she started work on this show.

Or maybe, really, since that weekend in the Hamptons.

(He should have known better.)

She doesn't greet him. He comes over and sits next to her, the unmistakable smell of beer and smoke and sex wafting off him, and she clenches her teeth to keep from saying something about it.

And what would she say? She's sleeping with someone else, too.

"Hey," he says.

"You're talking to me now?" she asks with a raised brow.

"Fuck that," he mumbles, turning to her with a scowl on his face. "Don't put it on me."

"Put what on you!?" she asks, laughing bitterly. "You've been avoiding me for days, Noah, and now you're coming in, clearly hungover, clearly...having spent the night elsewhere."

"None of your business where I spend my nights."

"No," she admits. "I suppose not."

"I told you I might not be home," he reminds her.

"Yes, of course."

He looks at her, flipping the pages of her magazine with force. She's pissed. _She's_ pissed? She's fucking some other dude, too, and he really wants to remind her of that. But he finds that the words make him so angry that he has to set his jaw, and the thought of even saying them out loud makes him want to punch something.

"This is fucking stupid."

"Don't curse at me, Noah," she says angrily. "I don't deserve that."

"And I don't deserve you sneaking around with some dude with weird floppy hair, fooling around in my kitchen!" he shouts.

"His hair is nice!" she says, because for some reason it feels important. "And it's not _your_ kitchen, it's _our_ kitchen. And you're hardly ever home anymore anyway, spending your nights...wherever. What do you care?"

"I'm out _working_!" he says seriously. "It's not like I'm just randomly staying elsewhere; _one time_ I did that. If I'm not here, it's because I'm doing my fucking job. What's _your_ excuse?"

"I work too!"

"Yeah, singing and dancing and making come fuck me eyes with what's his name is the same as chasing coked out drug dealers through dark alleys," he scoffs. She realizes he never really talks about work. She doesn't know if he's exaggerating. Probably not.

"You know what?" she says, throwing her magazine onto the table and standing. "I don't need this from you. I'm seeing someone. Big deal! At least I _know_ his name - it's _Bradley_, by the way - and we're exclusive! You're the king of the one night stand!"

He grins at her blithely, gets up and gets right in her face. "Add yourself to that list, Rachel," he says coldly.

Her jaw drops and he walks away from her. (Mostly because he knows she's going to cry, and he can't fucking stand the sight of it, of her.)

She slams her bedroom door, and his follows seconds after.

He runs his hands over his face, because he has no idea what the fuck just happened. He's acting like a jealous boyfriend, and she's acting like a jealous girlfriend. But she's apparently exclusive with the douchebag with the bad hair cut, and Puck's sleeping with other chicks (two last night, which he isn't exactly proud of) so why does either of them care?

He said what he said just to hurt her.

The thing is, it hurt him too, because there's still a part of him, somewhere inside, that doesn't want her to be just another one night stand.

He hears the front door open and close an hour later, and he swears that if it didn't mean forfeiting their damage deposit, he'd put his fucking fist through the wall.

----

She doesn't come home that night.

Or for the next three nights.

And he can't bring himself to call her.

She fucking walked out, and she disappeared, and she clearly doesn't want to talk to him. He can't blame her. And she can't blame him either, he's sure, because she'd said some shit too. She could talk until she was blue in the face about him staying out all night, but at the end of the day, why the fuck did she care so much?

After all, she's staying with moppy-headed Broadway boy, Puck's sure of it.

He's back on the day shift for a while, which he loves, because it's a break from the craziness of working New York City in the middle of the night. Sure, they still get a fair amount of calls, but it's, generally speaking, less serious stuff than the shit he has to witness at 4:00 am.

Jay's driving around, and they just finished up taking statements at the scene of a car accident. When Puck realizes where they are and what time it is, his curiosity and worry over Rachel gets the best of him.

"Make a left here," Puck says, pointing to an approaching street.

"What?"

"Left."

"You mind telling me where you're taking me?" Jay asks seriously, looking over at his young partner.

"Broadway."

"Why?"

"Just do it. The Minksoff."

"I don't get it," Jay says as he makes a right onto Broadway.

"You don't have to. Drive the fucking car, dude," Puck says.

They've gotten past all the formality of Jay being the senior officer. They treat each other pretty much as equals, and Jay's cool enough that he doesn't mind Puck's language (he's got the same kind of mouth). Besides, they show each other respect, and Puck never really curses _at_ Jay, just curses _around_ him. Big difference.

"Pull over," Puck insists once they're across the street from the theater.

"Puck, I need a reason here. I know it's a slow day and we're between calls, but I can't just let you call the shots without an explanation."

Puck sighs and glances away from the front of the theater and back to Jay. "My roommate works here. I haven't seen or heard from her in a few days. I just wanna make sure she's okay."

Jay looks surprised. This is the first he's heard of a roommate. "And you couldn't just call her?"

"It's complicated," Puck mumbles, staring out the window again.

He sees Rachel come out of the theater, laughing with Bradley, and Puck lets out a sigh. It might be frustration or it might be relief. He's not exactly sure.

(Seriously, that lanky fucker has the worst hair cut _in the history of all time_.)

But she's clearly fine, so that's a good thing. (Even if it means she's just not speaking to him and avoiding their place because she's pissed.)

"That her?" Jay asks, jutting his chin towards the girl. He takes Puck's non-response as confirmation. "Pretty."

Puck doesn't say anything for a few moments, then turns his eyes forward and sits back in his seat. "I'm fucking starving. Let's go."

Jay just shakes his head, but pulls back onto the street and doesn't say anything more about it.

----

He's sitting on the sofa in jeans and a heather grey NYPD tee shirt when she walks through the door after five days. He's sipping a beer and watching an episode of The Office and pretending he didn't hear her keys jingling in the hallway or her heels on the hardwood.

She walks right past him without so much as a word. He doesn't take his eyes off the television anyway.

She's spent the better part of a week at Bradley's or at her friend Kim's, only stepping foot in the apartment once (when she knew he was working) so she could grab a few more changes of clothes.

And she's been miserable. Not because she's been living out of a duffle bag, or because she misses her bed. She's been miserable because Noah said such hateful, hurtful things, and she feels like their whole relationship is hanging by a thread.

"We should talk," she announces, not sounding nearly as sure of herself as she should. She's standing beside the television, and his eyes land on her only briefly before they go back to the E-Trade commercial on the screen.

"Should we," he deadpans. "Funny. I must've missed your calls."

"Yes, well, my voicemail box was full of your concern, too," she says, putting one hand on her hip.

He slams his empty beer bottle down onto the coffee table a little harder than he means to. He hangs his head and runs his hand over the back of his neck.

"You know what, Rachel? It would have been nice to know you weren't lying in a fucking dumpster somewhere," he says.

"Don't be so dramatic," she scoffs. "I stayed with friends. After our last conversation, I couldn't bear to look at you."

He looks up at her, his brow furrowed and a wry smirk on his lips. "Don't hold back."

"Oh, I don't plan on it," she says, reaching over to turn off the television. "Noah, I don't...What's going on here?" She gestures between the two of them. "Because we were fine, and then everything just started unraveling, and I started dating Bradley, and now you're insinuating that I have some loyalty to you or something."

"You're my best friend!" he reminds her. "Am I fucking nuts to think that maybe you'd give me a heads up on this kinda thing?"

"Like you give me a laundry list of the women you sleep with?" she asks, one brow raised. He rolls his eyes.

"You'd think that now that you're getting railed on a regular basis, you'd be less of a bitch," he seethes. She reels back like she's been slapped. He cares for about two seconds.

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and says quietly, "this arrangement isn't working anymore."

"What?"

"I can't live like this," she says, sounding completely exhausted.

He stands and crosses his arms over his chest. "What the fuck are you saying, Rach?"

"Jasmine's going to London to be in Les Mis and she needs someone to sublet her apartment," she explains. The look on his face makes her feel worse than she ever has.

(She's trying to figure out why this feels like a breakup.)

"So you're moving out," he states.

"Noah, our friendship can't survive us living together," she says seriously, shaking her head. "We're either ignoring one another or fighting like crazy. I can't...I can't do it anymore."

He sets his jaw, grinding his teeth just a little bit, because this feeling? It's like someone's squeezing his heart in their fist. He doesn't want her to move out. Maybe they've been at each others' throats, but they've always fought, always had disagreements. But not like this. Not malicious and hurtful, and nothing to the point that they're standing on opposite sides of the same room, both looking like they're losing something really important.

"I'd offer to help you with your shit, but I'm sure your boyfriend can manage," he says, turning towards the door. He's reaching for his coat when she asks him where he's going.

He doesn't answer.

----

It happens over night.

Well, during the day, but there isn't an expression for that, so he'll say it happens over night.

He wakes up and all her things are still there, and when he comes home from work, her room, save for the furniture, is empty.

The only thing she left are a few photos of the two of them together; one from glee club where they cropped everyone else out and it's just them holding hands, one from their first night in their apartment, and one from her birthday last year.

She left them behind.

The only thing that keeps him from drinking himself into oblivion is knowing that he's got to work the next day.

----

She loves 'her' new little place. And little it is. It's a 600 square foot studio, but it's kind of perfect. It's only one bus away from the theater. The furniture isn't exactly what she'd pick (it's all dark woods and deep colours). But the building is secure, and the neighbours are nice, and it's nice to have her independence. Even though she and Noah were practically two ships passing in the night for the last little while, it's a completely different feeling knowing that the place is all hers.

Her first night alone, she tosses and turns. It seems she's gotten used to the faint sounds of his guitar playing seeping under her door.

She grabs her iPod and listens to that instead.

She does not need to start missing Noah now.


	8. Chapter 8

Her show opens on a Friday night, and he buys a ticket in the back of the theater, almost as far back as he can get.

She brings the house down. Everyone loves her.

(_Everyone_.)

----

They don't talk. She doesn't call him, and he doesn't call her. And she hates herself for crying, just once, in the dark of her apartment. It's just that he was the central figure in her life for so long, and now she doesn't have anyone, not really.

----

She sees him one time. (The first time in 33 days, not that she's keeping count.) She's between shows, and she decided that she didn't want catering food again, so she stepped out to grab something from one of her favourite little places near the theater.

There's a bit of a commotion on the other side of the street, and she pushes her way to the front of the crowd (curiosity gets the best of her) and sees Noah and two other police officers in some kind of situation with a really sketchy looking guy.

She holds her breath when she sees the knife. (The rest of the crowd gasps, but she can't even do that.)

In one swift motion, the creep takes a swipe at Noah and she feels her throat tighten, her heart race. Noah reaches out, grabs the guy's arm and wrenches it behind his back, pinning him to the hood of a parked car. She sees Noah's lips moving (she can tell he's angry; she can't blame him) as the people around her talk and tourists snap photos. She thinks it's almost funny that he will be a part of someone's vacation memories and he doesn't even know it.

Noah's got the guy cuffed and he shoves him (gently, of course) into the back of the nearby squad car, then shakes his head when his fellow officers pat him on the shoulder and talk to him.

She slips away from the crowd, and she isn't smiling, because that situation could have gone very differently.

It could have gone very differently, and there's a very real possibility that she never would have known something happened to him.

----

Three months pass and she doesn't see him again.

But now that she's seen what he deals with on a daily basis, she worries even more than she used to, which she knows is probably crazy, because they aren't even friends any more.

But David tells her one day that Noah stopped in at the coffee shop for an Americano and stayed for a conversation, and Rachel runs into his Vanessa at a martini bar one night, and she says that he's stopped into his old restaurant once or twice for beers with his former coworkers. At least Rachel knows he's okay.

It doesn't really seem like enough, just to know it.

----

He watches her star rise. He starts seeing posters with her face on them posted throughout the city, and he's read reviews of her show. There's talk of a Tony, though most people say it's a long shot. He still thinks it's fucking amazing, considering this is her first Broadway production. But he knows (hello, the girl knows Tony trivia, and _shares it_) that it wouldn't be the first time a 'rookie' performer got a nod (or a win).

Every time he drives down Broadway and sees her name on the marquis, he smiles to himself.

At least he knows she's got to be happy. She's got everything she's ever wanted.

Doesn't she?

----

After the day he's had, he really fucking needs a beer. He's been stuck at the precinct for close to eight hours, not including his patrol.

Okay, so he needs several beer.

A few of the guys take him out to this bar he's never heard of. It's a rare kind of Manhattan bar, something between a club and a pub, and he thinks that's just fine. Perfect, maybe. There's a little dance floor where some women are dancing to the pop and R&B hits that are playing, and it's not so bad to watch as he tunes in and out of conversation with his cop buddies.

Two beers in, he notices a petite brunette on the dance floor. He's drawn to her (like he's been drawn to this type for a few months now) and he watches her hips move and her arms sway to the music.

He thinks he's hallucinating when he sees that it's _her_. It's Rachel. The girl he's been unsuccessfully trying to forget for months.

And he _knows_ Rachel.

He knows he's seeing Drunk Rachel.

Jay follows Puck's line of sight and sees Rachel dancing, then some guy walk up to her. She drapes her arms over the guy's shoulders, and Puck feels the rage building within him.

"Why do I recognize that girl?" Jay asks.

Puck says nothing, just finishes his beer in one gulp, mutters the worst kind of curse, and stalks towards the dance floor.

He grabs her wrist, ignoring the shit the other guy is spewing (seriously, buddy _does not _want to fuck with Puck right now) and Rachel's protests that he 'unhand' her. He pulls her off the floor and he sees how dark her eyes are. The only get this way when she's either turned on or drunk. He wonders (hopes?) if it's a combination of the two right now.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she asks, rubbing her wrist with her hand.

"I could ask you the same thing!"

"I'm having fun," she tells him. "I'm having _a lot_ of fun."

"You're fucking blasted. What are you doing? Are you here alone?" he asks. No time for pleasantries.

"I'm alone."

"Where's Douchey McDoucherson?" he asks blithely.

"Who?" Her face scrunches and he hates that there's a part of him that thinks it's cute.

"Brad."

She laughs and locks eyes with him. "Probably fucking his new girlfriend."

He knows just how drunk she is, because she's used some form of 'the eff word' (what she usually calls it) twice in the last minute. Totally not like her.

"C'mon. I'm taking you home," he says, guarding her body with his as he pushes her towards the exit.

"I don't want to go home yet," she insists, trying to resist him. She can't. He flicks his wrist at his buddies, and they don't seem to care. There's a look of recognition on Jay's face, so Puck's pretty sure they'll all known the story in about 5 minutes anyway. "Puck, I don't want to!"

Her calling him Puck just sounds wrong.

"Too fucking bad," he says as they step out onto the street. "You know how stupid you are to act like this with no one watching out for you?"

She steps in front of him, looking up at him, and he can't help but notice the redness in her eyes. "You are."

(Okay, so he is. He ignores her pointing it out though.)

"Where do you live? You're going home."

"I don't want to go home yet! It's not even midnight."

"Rachel, I'm not in the fucking mood, okay? Just tell me where I'm taking you," he says seriously.

"No," she pouts. "I don't want to."

"I'm not fucking around, here," he says through gritted teeth. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at him with what he assumes she intends as a scowl, even though it kind of fails. "Fine."

He grabs her wrist again and pulls her towards the closest subway stop.

If she won't give him her address, he'll take her to his.

Along the way, she asks him a series of questions, all of which he gives her non-committal answers to. (_"Why were you at that bar?" "How come your shirt's so blue?" "Why are you still holding onto me?" "Do you think I should highlight my hair?" "Where are we going?" "Why do you smell different than usual?" "Do you think tequila is _supposed_ to make your head feel fuzzy?" "Don't you hate it when someone says supposebly instead of supposedly?" "Isn't it weird how your fingers go between my fingers like that?" "Hey! I know where we're going!"_)

He lets her hold onto his arm as they walk towards their (fuck; _his_) building, and they're really quiet, because he's pissed at her and he doesn't want to hear about her stupid breakup or meltdown right now.

This is so not the way he thought he'd be ending his night. He thought he'd be taking a girl home (preferably going home with one instead, so he could leave in the morning and not have her hanging around). Instead, he's dealing with his drunk ex-roommate/ex-best friend/the girl he thinks about more than almost anything. The girl he misses every fucking day, so much that it's not fair. And she's walking next to him with her arm linked through his and her head on his shoulder.

They step into the apartment and she immediately kicks off her heels, like he's seen her do a thousand times before. She lets out a little sigh as she looks around.

He hasn't changed a thing.

When she turns to him, she expects a different question than the one he gets.

"Why're you in such a bad mood?" she asks, her brow furrowed. He shakes his head. He really doesn't want to get into it. "Noah," she pouts, "tell me."

"No, Rach. It'll kill your buzz," he says, and she smirks just a little bit.

"I wanna know."

"Too fucking bad. Bedtime for the lush," he says, pushing her towards her bedroom.

And yes, he still considers it her bedroom. He wasn't going to move all his shit 20 feet across the hall. What's the point in that? He just keeps the door to her room closed and it's like he doesn't even notice it's there.

(That's a huge lie, by the way.)

"Tell me," she says seriously. "I'll tell you a secret." He laughs, because she's trying to entice him, but he just pushes the door to her room open instead. "Brad cheated on me with my understudy."

He stops shoving her then, moves to stand in front of her with concern on his face. "Seriously?"

"Uh huh." She nods once, emphatically. "She's not even as good a singer as me. Her vibrato is awful!"

He laughs, because it's seriously hilarious that she thinks that shit is important to dudes. "Sorry," he says, because what else is he supposed to say to the girl he hasn't spoken to in months?

"Tell me now. We had a deal."

"I never agreed to..."

"Noah," she whines. Her hands fist his shirt at his stomach, and he's reminded that Drunk Rachel is the one who seduced him that night.

That's not a memory he needs right now.

"You really don't want to know."

"I do too! Don't tell me what I want!" The sudden switch from cute and quiet to loud and angry startles him.

They're standing in her room now (those three photos still sitting on her dresser), and he lets out a sigh. "I had to do something today that I've never had to do before," he confesses.

She looks at him quizzically as she pulls her shirt over her head. Jesus fuck. It's like she has no clue how bad her standing there in her bra makes him want to fuck her. "What?" she asks as she moves her hand to the button of her jeans.

"I uh...I shot someone," he says quietly, simply because he knows she won't stop until she gets her answer. She stops moving completely and steps towards him.

"What?"

"It was...there was a whole thing, and the guy had a gun pointed at Jay, and...Yeah," he says.

"Noah," she breathes out. She wraps her arms around him, and he closes his eyes as he hugs her back, her skin hot against his.

This is why he misses her. They never really talked about his work at all. He wonders if it's some kind of sign that he sees her for the first time since everything went down on the day he has to deal with this.

"Go to bed, Rach," he says, moving away from her to pull back the covers.

She climbs into bed in just her bra and underwear, and she's laying there, looking up at him with these tired, big brown eyes.

"I miss you, Noah," she says as her eyes flutter closed.

He lets out a breath as he tucks the blankets up under her chin.

He leaves the room, but the door stays open. (He knows her well enough to know that in the morning, she'll be making a mad dash to the bathroom to throw up.)

He's not exactly sure how he expected their reunion to go, or if he even really believed it'd happen.

This definitely isn't what he imagined.

----

She wakes up and realizes where she is immediately, and she notices right away that this is the most 'at home' she's felt in ages and ages. She sits up, and her head is pounding, but she sees a bottle of water and a couple Advil sitting on the bedside table, and she smiles to herself.

It's just barely 7:00, and she remembers Noah saying something about having the day off, so she's sure he's still asleep, and she lays back in her bed (she loves her bed) and glances around the room. She doesn't really want to leave.

But her phone buzzes, and her agent wants to meet for brunch (of course) at 10:00, and she really needs to get home and clean herself up, lest she be asked what she was doing last night.

So she scribbles a quick note and locks the door behind her.

She never did take the keys off her key ring.

----

She's gone when he wakes up, but there's a note on the dining table. Just a thank you for letting her stay, and an apology for forcing him to take care of her.

There was really no force involved. As much of a pain in the ass as she is, he finds that taking care of her is pretty much the most natural thing he does.

----

She starts to miss Brooklyn. (She says it's Brooklyn she misses; it's easier to admit.)

She misses their sweet, aging landlord, and the married couple on the first floor who asked Rachel to sing at their anniversary party the first year Rachel and Puck moved in. She misses her little coffee shop and talking to David. She misses Puck's favourite Chinese place and her favourite Mexican place.

Being close to the theater doesn't have quite the same draw anymore.

----

So here's the thing.

Puck likes beer. And women. And going to establishments where there is sure to be both beer and women.

But in the week since he saw Rachel, he's come to a realization that he can admit is pretty obvious and he should have known sooner.

Sleeping with girls that are similar to Rachel is not fulfilling, and it's also a little weird.

He hasn't seen her or talked to her since the night he 'rescued' her from the bar, but he's been thinking about her more, missing her more.

She sent him a text message one day, though, accompanied by a photo of a poster advertising the New York Show Choir competition. Her message, keyed in on the screen was simply,_ Ah, the nostalgia. ;)_

It made him laugh.

He misses her craziness making him laugh.

But at least they aren't ignoring one another anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

They've been texting, talking on the phone a couple times a week, just keeping up with one another. It's not much (not enough, she thinks) but it's better than nothing. It's certainly better than what they had before.

She listens to him talk about his work, and he listens (she thinks) as she goes on about shows and gaffs during performances.

It's friendly, nothing more, and she hates it.

She wants her friend back. She wants Noah back, like she had him before. Maybe better than she had him before.

(But she only thinks that sometimes.)

----

The last thing he fucking needs at 10:00 at night (even if he doesn't work until 1:00 the next day) is someone knocking at his fucking door. Can't a guy watch a western conference basketball game uninterrupted?

He doesn't really mean to be rude when he opens the door, but as he's leaving the living room, Parker's fouled, and if he makes these two free throws, the game'll be tied.

"What?" he barks. Then he notices who it is. "Hey."

Rachel's standing there in a pair of loose-fitting jeans, running shoes, and a black jacket. And she's got a bag slung over her shoulder and a nervous look on her face.

"Can I come home?" she asks quietly.

He thinks his heart is going to beat out of his chest. He can't even say a word, so he just nods and grabs her, pulling her into a hug.

"So yes, then?" she asks teasingly. She laughs a little bit as he lets her go and moves aside so she can walk in. He notices a suitcase in the hall, so he pulls it into the apartment. "I was going to just use my key, but this felt more dramatic." He laughs again, because of course she'd go for drama. "I also thought of just being here one day when you got home, but I don't really know your schedule, and also I couldn't get anyone to help me with all my things, so I'll have to get them later. And Jasmine isn't exactly thrilled that now she's got to try to find someone else to live at her place, but I promised I'd help."

By now she's in her bedroom and he's set her suitcase on her bed for her.

"We'll take care of your stuff," he says with a laugh. "My buddy Scott has a truck and he owes me."

"Oh! That's wonderful!" she says happily.

It's like nothing's changed. It's like no time has passed at all and neither of them were hurt. It's like they never had that stupid fight and she never really moved out. He loves it.

(But so much for the quiet.)

"Are you hungry?" she asks. She slips past. "I'm feeling Chinese!"

He follows her into the kitchen where she's dialing out to his favourite place for food. She orders for the both of them (he always gets the same thing anyway) and then grabs two beer from the fridge.

"Good to have you back, Berry," he says, slinging his arm around her shoulders as she hands him the bottle.

"Good to be back, Puckerman." She clinks her bottle against his and flops down on the sofa. "What are we watching?"

Yup. It's like nothing's changed at all.

----

"Hey, uh...you know I'm like...sorry, right?" he asks, turning towards her. She's sitting on the sofa, feet tucked under his thigh as he sits next to her. He's watching a special on the best guitar players of all time, and she's reading some book he doesn't care about. (Seriously, she keeps reading him lines and it's all sappy and shit.)

"Sorry for what?" She lowers her novel, tucking her finger between the pages to keep her spot.

"For before," he says, like it should be obvious. "For the shit I said and how I acted. I was a dick."

She smiles, laughs softly. "I wasn't exactly perfect, either. I'm sorry, too."

"So we're cool now? Like, you're not gonna throw that in my face the next time we have an argument?" he asks. He laughs when she smacks his arm with her book. That shit hurts. "Hey!"

"Don't be a jackass."

He smirks and runs a hand over his head. "I'm serious though. I don't want all the bullshit getting in the way."

"I know," she says quietly. She leans over and kisses his cheek, then opens her book again. "Don't worry about it."

"Really?"

She looks up again. "Really."

He smiles as he turns back to the television.

The air is cleared. For real this time, he thinks. Last time, when they tried to put 'that other thing' (that amazing night) behind them, they clearly failed.

And he really digs that she doesn't make fun of him for talking about his feelings and shit.

----

She doesn't have a show on Mondays, which is kind of nice, she's found. She can get her errands done on a day when the city is just a little (only a little) less busy. She drops off some dry cleaning and stops in to have a coffee with David before heading into Manhattan for lunch with a couple friends.

They ask her why she's living in Brooklyn again when she could be so much closer to the theater, and she just laughs and says that she likes Brooklyn, and she likes her place and her roommate.

When she makes the mistake of saying his name, she's met with three shocked faces. And then they berate her for the next hour about Noah and what he's like and what he does and why she never told them about him before. (And when she says he's a cop, her girlfriends' looks make jealousy stir in her stomach, for some reason.)

She goes shopping afterward and spends probably too much money on things she doesn't necessarily need, but she's getting paid handily and hasn't really spent a lot of money. And then there's the fact that her rent just went down a couple hundred dollars a month because she moved back into the place she never should have left. So she figures that she can buy a couple dresses and some amazing calfskin boots and a pair of earrings.

It's 7:00 by the time she gets back to the apartment, and it's not until she gets to the door and hears the voices coming from inside that she remembers that Noah has friends over to watch the Rangers game. She knows he doesn't even really care much about hockey, but his friends take turns hosting, and this is his night. She thinks it's cute, actually, how the ten of them (or whatever it is) who all work the same shifts will still want to see one another outside of work hours.

When she steps into the apartment, she sets her bags down and she sees a few guys standing around the living room nursing beers, and Noah's voice coming from the kitchen.

"Oh," one of them says with a smile. "We've got a lady in the house. And I don't mean Puck."

"Fuck off, man," Puck says, flipping his buddy the finger as he steps out of the kitchen. He smiles at Rachel and she watches him glance to her shopping bags. She has the decency to look at least a little guilty for spending so much money. "Hey."

Rachel laughs and slips off her shoes and jacket. "Hi. How are you guys?"

"We're good," another guy chimes in.

She realizes that she's only ever met Scott, and he's messing around with the television. "Guys, this is my roommate, Rachel," Puck says as Rachel steps further into the apartment. "Rachel, this is Adam, Sully, Jonesy, Erik, Boner, Volchie, Rick, Jamie, and Jay. You already know Scott."

She glances around at the guys, who are all smiling, and she laughs a little. "I'm never going to remember all that."

"No worries," Puck says, barely able to hide his grin. "They're a bunch of fucking losers anyway."

"Noah!" she cries, hitting his chest with her palm. "What a terrible thing to say about our company!" As she steps into the kitchen, she can hear the guys mockingly saying 'Noah', and she just shakes her head. "Have you offered food?"

"Pizza should be here soon," he answers. The rest of the guys filter into the living room for puck drop, and Puck grabs a beer, knocking the cap off for her.

"His name's really _Boner_?" Rachel asks quietly.

Puck laughs and shakes his head. "No. But there's a fucking classic story involving him and his hot female partner."

"I don't want to know."

"No, you don't," he laughs. "Hey, thanks for being cool with this. I know we're kind of taking over the place. If we get too loud or whatever, just yell at us."

She furrows her brow and then smiles at him. "Oh, I fully intend on eating pizza with you guys." She looks up at him, her eyes particularly round and...well, gorgeous, if you ask him. "I mean, if that's okay."

He smiles at her and nods his head. "Sure. Just watch out for Boner," he whispers as they step into the living room. Her jaw drops and she hits him again.

She notices that there aren't any seats available, except for Noah's spot on the sofa, which she's sure he threatened them all against using. He's gathered all the chairs in the apartment and scattered them around the living room so everyone can see the television.

"C'mere, darlin', you can sit here," Jay says. (She only knows Jay because she's seen a couple pictures Noah has.) He scoots over so he's pressed right up against the arm of the sofa and there's space between him and the guy she thinks is named Sully.

"No, no. Don't worry. It's okay," she insists.

She runs (literally) into her room and grabs a couple big pillows, then sets them on the floor in front of Noah's spot. The pillows are covering his feet, but he doesn't seem to care, and when she sits down and rests her back against his knees, she's completely oblivious to the way the rest of the guys are taking in the situation.

She's also the one who jumps up to answer the door when their pizza arrives, and when she's standing there with four boxes of pizza in her hands, she calls in to Noah and tells him she needs money.

(Sully makes a comment about it being just like his own house, and all the guys seem to find that hilarious.)

They settle back in to the living room, all taking bites of pizza and (most) talking with their mouths full about the game and stats and whatever. They take turns getting more beer, and Puck tries not to notice that the guys, even the married ones, are totally smitten with Rachel.

But he can admit that it's kind of hard not to be. And she's so cute right now, trying to understand the game and pronounce the players' names. She cheers loudly when the Rangers score, then tips her head back and looks up at him, and he just shakes his head at her. She doesn't give a shit about hockey, and he knows it.

The game goes into overtime, and Rachel sits forward on her knees. Puck looks down and notices that he can see an expanse of skin between her shirt and jeans, and a little sliver of her underwear. (And only Berry would match her panties to her shirt...)

So he sits forward too, pushing his legs towards her back a little bit so none of the other guys can see her tanned skin or the sexy little dimples at the small of her back.

When Redden scores the game winner, Rachel literally squeals and jumps up, and lands straight in Puck's lap as the rest of the guys cheer. Puck laughs at her and shakes his head when she hugs him and talks about how cool hockey is and how exciting it is to watch games with a bunch of people.

(Puck doesn't miss the looks he's getting from Sully and Jay, the two older guys in the room. They're looking at him like they're onto him or something.)

By the time the guys leave, they're all kissing Rachel on the cheek and thanking her for having them (as if she had any say in the matter) and telling her to keep Puck in line (ditto).

Once they're alone again, Rachel gets started on the dishes while Puck tidies up the living room and makes it look like, you know, a bomb didn't go off. He grabs a tea towel after taking out the last of the empties, and Rachel smiles at him as he reaches for a plate to dry.

"Do you have to make everyone fall in love with you?" he asks with a laugh. She smiles and shrugs her shoulder. "I think Erik wanted to take you home." Her cheeks flush red as she scrubs at a spot on one of the plates.

"I think I've had my fill of men for a while," she says sadly.

(It takes_ every ounce_ of self-restraint not to make a lewd comment.)

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't want to be with someone I don't already trust."

Her eyes meet his, and he knows she's saying something more than what she's saying. But then he thinks about the last time they crossed the line and the huge fucking disaster that came after. He's confused, because there's a part of him that thinks that if they ever did get it together, it'd be the best thing in the world. The other part of him sees her turning back to the sink without saying anything more.

And he thinks that maybe there's no subtext.

----

The next day, Puck and Jay have just grabbed coffee #3 from a place on Lex, then gotten back in the car. It's fucking snowing, which Puck hates, because it means there are more bullshit calls, like car accidents and slip and falls. And yeah, of course, if someone's injured, he's there, helping and whatnot. But most of the time, it's just a fender bender, backing up traffic and creating a chorus of horns. Which, for the record, is fucking annoying.

They've been pretty quiet most of the morning, which isn't all that weird. When you sit in a car with a guy for however many hours a week, you learn when to talk and when not to.

"I gotta say, your Rachel..."

Puck scoffs and sips his coffee (and burns his fucking tongue). "She's not _my_ Rachel."

"She should be," Jay laughs. "She's kind of amazing."

Puck looks out the window.

----

"Noahhhh. Answer. Answer. Oh, Jesus, I'm leaving a message like they do on TV, like you can actually hear and then answer, which isn't the case, clearly, since modern technology has made it impossible for anyone to actually believe that trick works. And you know, I actually really hate voicemail. I wouldn't even be leaving this, but I really would like to talk to you, and it'd be great if..."

The message cuts off and he laughs. He laughs because this is not the first time his voicemail has cut her off. Fuck, it's not even the 20th time.

He skips to the next message and hears her voice, slightly angry this time.

"Noah, I honestly don't understand why you even _have_ a phone if you're not going to answer it. And come to think of it, I don't know why I even bother calling. I'll see you later."

Fuck. She does this, too. Makes it seem like she's really mad, but when he walks through the door, she probably won't even remember ever leaving the message in the first place.

When he gets home, she's sleeping on the couch. It's funny, he thinks, because she's always in her own room when he works this particular shift. He doesn't get home until midnight, and he knows how crazy she is about her rest and her vocal chords and all that.

But there she is, laying on her side on the sofa with the television buzzing in the background and a heavy blanket draped over her lower half. He watches her for a second. (Just a second.)

He kneels down beside her and runs his hand down her arm. "Rachel." He squeezes her elbow a little bit and she lets out a soft noise. (One that sets off some feeling in his stomach.) "Rach."

"Hmm." She stretches a little bit and her eyes flutter open. She smiles lazily, and he feels better than he's felt all day. "Hi."

"Hey." She looks so cute that it's hard for him to focus. "You wanna tell me what had you leaving me five messages today?"

He smile grows and she reaches out and rests her hand on his shoulder. "I got a new role."

"What?" he asks with a laugh. He didn't even know she was looking for something new.

"Maria."

He blinks a few times and she watches as he starts to understand. "West Side Story? That Maria?"

"The one and only," she says, biting her bottom lip.

He grabs her wrist and jerks her into a sitting position, then wraps his arms around her and pulls her up onto her feet and into his arms. "Rach, this is fucking amazing," he says into her hair.

(If she thinks he doesn't notice the way she inhales against his neck, she's sorely mistaken.)

"I can't even...It still hasn't even sunk in yet," she admits, pulling away from him. "This is my dream role."

"I'm proud of you," he says sincerely.

She leans forward and presses her lips to his quickly.

"I tried to stay awake," she says, which makes him laugh. "I'm exhausted."

"Me too."

"Can we have dinner tomorrow? What time are you off?" she asks as she folds the blanket.

"All day, actually. I'll meet you downtown." He watches as she steps toward her bedroom, but he wraps his arms around her from behind. "'Night, Rach."

She reaches back and rests her hands on his hips. "Goodnight, Noah."

He doesn't know why he does it, but he kisses her just below her ear before she walks away.

(They're both thinking that it's the exact same place that, all those months ago, he marked her as his.)

----

Noah has to work for her last show before starting rehearsals for West Side Story.

She gets a standing ovation and two curtain calls.

She comes home after the party her cast mates throw for her, and there are yellow roses sitting on the dining table.

There's no card.

She doesn't need one.


	10. Chapter 10

"I can't do this!"

Puck's pretty sure he jumps or something, though he's trying to fucking sleep, and he's disoriented as hell, trying to figure out what's going on.

All he knows is that the door swung open and Rachel walked in and started yelling.

"The fuck?"

"It's my first day of rehearsals. _I can't do this_!"

"You can," he mumbles. He doesn't mean to mumble it, but fuck. He's got to work in five hours, so he was hoping to sleep for, you know, _four more_.

"I can't! Maria is _iconic_. She's timeless. She's perfect! I can't mess with perfection, Noah! What if everyone hates my portrayal of this amazing character!?" she cries, moving over to sit on the bed.

"You're fucking crazy," he says. "You know this part better'n anyone. Don't be stupid."

Honestly, he's just saying whatever he can to get her out of his room so he can go back to sleep. But it must be the right thing, because she leans over and kisses him quickly, then smiles all bright and gets up. So he closes his eyes, figuring he's done his part and now she'll leave.

"Wish me luck!" she demands. She actually stomps her foot. He hears her heel on the hardwood.

"Luck."

"You're the worst roommate I've ever had," she laughs. He smiles to himself and she leans over to kiss his cheek. "Also kind of the best."

"You'd be better if you didn't wake me up!" he calls at her as she leaves the room. She doesn't say anything, just laughs and closes the door behind her.

It really shouldn't be as easy as it is to fall back to sleep. But then he just thinks about her lips on his and then his cheek and then her saying something about being the best and it's pretty simple.

----

He's playing Call of Duty one morning, talking to Finn on headset as they battle together, and Rachel's sitting at the dining table in her pajamas and robe, reading the newspaper. They, miraculously, both have the day off, and after Noah's through with his 'date' (she calls it one because she knows he hates it) with Finn, the two of them have plans to, well, do absolutely nothing. She doesn't want to change out of her pajamas, and Noah's wearing sweats and an NYPD tee shirt, which she's sure he'll wear all day.

"Fuck you! I can't believe you didn't get that guy! You said you had my fucking back, man." Rachel laughs softly and shakes her head. "Good thing I'm wearing a fucking vest. Jesus Christ. It's like I'm playing with a goddamn girl right now."

Rachel looks over, though she can only see his profile and he probably isn't paying attention to her at all. "Hey!"

"Yeah, you know what? On second thought, a girl'd probably have better fucking coordination than you and your behemoth thumbs," he continues. Rachel laughs a little harder, mostly at his correct usage of the word behemoth. "What the fuck ever. Just cover me, alright? I'm going into this building...Fuck that! You can't shoot for shit!"

(All this would really bother Rachel, the cursing and the clearly violent nature of the game they're playing, but she's come to find it entertaining, listening to Noah get into this silly game. And if she ever called it silly to his face, he'd probably stare her down until she took it back.)

Rachel takes a sip of her coffee, then gets up to get the pot from the kitchen and pours herself another cup before walking over and topping up Noah's cup, though she's sure it'll be cold by the time he takes his hands off the controller to drink it.

"Thanks, babe," he says, shooting her a wink. "No! Fuck, not you, dude. _Why_ would I call _you_ babe?" Rachel laughs again. It's actually pretty hilarious listening to one side of this conversation. "I am not going to tell her hi for you. Will you get your fucking head in the game? I'm about to get a-fucking-nihilated here, and you're daydreaming about Rachel." He pauses the game, takes a sip of his coffee, and then rests his controller on his knee. "Fuck this. You suck. I'm going."

(He still gets pissed when he thinks about Finn and Rachel together.)

He switches off the television and gaming console, then runs his hand over his head and slumps down at the table across from Rachel with his coffee in his hand.

"Are you about done?" she asks with a grin. "I don't think I've ever heard so many profanities in such a short amount of time."

He scoffs. "It was pretty much just one profanity, repeated a lot."

"Oh, well that's okay then," she laughs. He nods and she turns the page of the newspaper. "You know, I was thinking. We could move if we wanted to."

"Why would we wanna do that?" he asks with a furrowed brow. When she glances up at him, it's like he honestly thinks it's the craziest thing he's ever heard.

"Well, we can afford it, for one," she says, laughing softly. "We could move into Manhattan. It'd be closer to work, and you could actually have a bedroom."

"I like my den/office," he says seriously, smiling fondly.

"I know you do. But don't you think it's time we got you a grown up bedroom, Noah?" she asks. She leans forward and he absolutely can't help if he looks at her chest, because she's pushing her boobs together and up and _damn_, there's no way he can keep his eyes from that.

And then, after his 'guy moment' is over, he thinks about what she's said. And he thinks that he doesn't want his own bedroom. He likes what he has now. The next bedroom he moves into, he wants to be the one he shares with the woman he's with. (Don't fucking call him sentimental.) And yeah, more than once or twice or 50 times, he's thought that sharing a room with Rachel wouldn't be half bad.

"I like this place," he says firmly. "It's comfortable, and I like this area, and it's ours."

She smiles and turns back to the paper. "Okay, then."

She doesn't bring it up again after that.

----

Rachel has a rare day off from rehearsals, and all she wants to do is sleep in (which she does), and have a long bath too soothe her muscles before going for a coffee and just spending a lazy day at home.

She's overtired, _exhausted_ and a little out of it when she steps from her room and into the hall to head to the bathroom. She is wearing absolutely nothing but a long-ish Van Halen tee shirt (care to venture a guess who she stole that from?) and she's rubbing her eye with her fist, though she knows how bad that is for her skin.

She absolutely does not expect, when she pushes the bathroom door open, to see Noah standing there.

Wearing absolutely _nothing_.

"Oh my god!" she cries, covering her face with her hands and spinning around so her back is to him.

He's _laughing_. She's sure she's 10 shades of red. Does he have to look so _good_? She'd swear he was perfection if that thought wouldn't get her into all kinds of trouble. The truth is, she's seen him with his shirt off a million times.

She hasn't spent a lot of time staring at his naked lower half.

Some time, not a lot of time. She shouldn't have this feeling, this heat between her legs and tightness in her stomach right now. He's her roommate, for crying out loud. So what if they've slept together? So what if, sometimes, she thinks about it? So what if she might want to do that again?

She is so screwed.

And oh god. This tee shirt isn't really long enough to be wearing nothing underneath. She wouldn't even be walking around the apartment like this, except she was under the impression that he was working early.

Her hand goes to the back of her shirt, tugging it down while the other hand stays covering her eyes. She _could not _be more embarrassed.

His laughter isn't helping.

"Stop laughing!" she shouts angrily. This is _so_ not what she needed first thing this morning. "Are you decent!?"

"I like to think I'm more than decent, Rach," he says. She can hear him smirking.

"Noah!"

"Relax, Rachel, you can turn around."

She does so slowly, still clutching the bottom of her tee shirt, now with both hands. He raises his brow at her, wondering why she's doing that. He can tell she's not wearing a bra. That's really no big deal, since she often doesn't wear one around the apartment. He's certainly not about to complain.

And she's totally checking him out, eyes moving from his chest to his hip, where his left hand is holding a towel closed around him.

"You alright there, Berry?" he asks laughingly.

"Shut up! What are you doing here?"

"Um...I live here," he draws out slowly. She closes her eyes tightly and grimaces. "My shift got switched. I have to go in for 11:00."

"Oh."

"Rachel, you've seen me naked before." He watches as her eyes fly open and her cheeks go red again. "I mean, that was different, you know, since..."

"Stop talking," she pleads. "Just...stop talking."

"Hey," he says, stepping closer to her. He rests his hand on her shoulder and she looks up at him. "It's no big deal." He smirks to himself and she braces herself for whatever comment is coming. "Well, _it's_ a big deal, but I don't have to tell _you_ that."

"Noah, I'm serious. If you don't stop making jokes about this..."

"Come on, Rach. It's _funny_." He smiles at her and she rolls her eyes. "You know, I can tell you aren't wearing anything underneath _my_ shirt."

"You most certainly cannot tell!" she cries, pulling back from him. He looks her up and down.

(He wonders if she knows she's just admitted it.)

"Yes, I can. You're all fidgety."

"Please don't make this more embarrassing than it has to be," she says, locking eyes with him. He reaches for her wrist, then in one swift motion, has her pinned against the counter. "Noah," she gasps.

"It's only embarrassing because you're letting it be embarrassing," he tells her. "Just relax."

His voice is all low, and he's not pressed up against her, but she wants him to be. His hands are on either side of her, keeping her in place, and she honestly doesn't even know when he tied the towel around his waist properly. She clearly missed that part. She shouldn't be cursing that. She shouldn't be wishing he'd touch her, anywhere, just to feel his hands on her. She most definitely should not want to push her lower half against his.

God, he makes her crazy.

"This is a bad idea," she almost whispers. She tries to move her hands, but she doesn't know where to put them without touching them, so they just stay in front of her, between them, all-too-close to an area she's aching to touch.

He takes a breath and closes his eyes. "Yeah. You're right," he says regrettably, pulling away from her.

He backs away completely, adjusting his towel (and he knows she knows exactly why), and leaves the bathroom.

He doesn't say goodbye before leaving for work.

She lays in the bathtub for an hour, hoping she can talk herself out of craving him so badly.

----

He's in a shitty mood all day. Jay asks what's wrong, and Puck just says that he had a rough night and didn't get much sleep.

He doesn't mention that he's living in the fucking world capital of sexual tension or whatever, and that he wants to fuck his roommate. Again. Repeatedly.

Dammit. His life would be way less complicated if Rachel wasn't so...so...perfect.

Seriously, she's perfect for him. At least he thinks so.

She thinks it's a _'bad idea.'_

Fuck.

----

After their last rehearsal before opening night, Rachel stops by the box office and has a ticket set aside. She writes Noah's name on the front in her ever-present pink Sharpie, then leaves the ticket at will call while her friends wait for her so they can go out for milkshakes (which yes, they know are terrible for them, but it's Rachel's tradition after the last rehearsal, and they all thought it sounded kind of amazing.)

"So who's coming to see the star tomorrow night?" Jana, who's playing Rita, asks.

"Just Noah."

"Boyfriend?" Oscar inquires, arching one brow.

"Roommate," Rachel says, though the smile on her face probably tells a completely different story.

It'd help if she knew what story that was. Or even what she wanted it to be.

(_No_, she hasn't been thinking about his naked form at every spare second since she saw it a week and a half ago. She _hasn't_.)

"Please. I know that face," Jana insists. "Who is he? What's he like? Have you given into the temptation of living with a man?"

"I am not answering that!" Rachel cries, mortified. Her cheeks flush red and she really wants to ignore that she's totally giving herself away, but her friends are laughing at her. "We've known one another since high school. We moved here together, sort of, and we've lived together pretty much since then. Except for a four month detour. He's a police officer."

"And you've totally slept with him," Oscar says, like it's just a fact. Rachel covers her face with her hands. Even a double chocolate milkshake can't save her from this conversation. "Oh, you so have."

"It was like, a year ago!"

"But it happened," Jana says. "So what, you guys are just friends now?"

"Yes," Rachel insists.

"But you want more," Oscar states.

"How are you doing this?!" Rachel cries laughingly. They all giggle a little, and Rachel tries to flick some milkshake at Oscar, but he ducks out of the way. "It's not that I want more. I don't think. Or maybe I do. The situation is just so complicated. There are years and years of issues there between us. He used to torment me, and then we dated for like a week in high school. After that, we were merely acquaintances and performed in the same show choir. He showed up at the bus station when I was leaving town, and we just kind of...fell together. We live together, and it's...he's my very best friend."

"A friend you sleep with." Jana can barely hide her amusement.

"A friend I _have_ slept with. Once. Well, more than once, but only one night," Rachel says, turning red again when she realizes just what she's confessed. "Whatever! The point is, Noah and I are just roommates. There's nothing more going on."

"Honey, you are in so much denial. It's almost cute," Oscar says before taking a sip of his shake. "Are you dating anyone else?" (He knows the answer.) "Is he?"

Rachel thinks, then realizes very quickly that Noah hasn't had any girls to the apartment since she moved back in. And then she tries to remember if he's stayed out over night since she moved back in. The only times she can think of have been when he's worked the night shift, no others.

"No," she says, almost like it surprises her, too.

Her friends share a look, one that doesn't go unnoticed by her, and then there are a few moments of complete silence, and Rachel thinks they're finally past this particular topic of conversation.

"So," Oscar says, leaning across the table. "Was it good?"

Rachel dramatically rests her head on her forearm on the table.

This is not a conversation she wants to have.

It'll just make her think about the situation even more, which, suffice it to say, would be almost all the time.

And she has other things to focus on right now. Things other than Noah Puckerman and how badly she wants him, 95 per cent of the time.

----

Since they attended her cast party the night before and Puck had actually worked all day, he didn't get a chance to get her flowers. Which sucked. He felt like the worst friend in the world.

But by the end of the night, Rachel was so high on the love people were showering on her at her cast party, and so tipsy on the champagne that had been flowing, Puck pretty much tucked her into bed as soon as they got home. (And so what if he told her again how proud he is and kissed her forehead as her eyes drifted closed?)

It was amazing, seeing her on that stage. It's like that part was written for her. And he doesn't even care if his buddies were making fun of him for pulling on a suit in the locker room and making himself presentable to go to a Broadway show. They all knew where he was going, who he was going to see, and he told them to fuck off when they started giving him shit about it.

Her cast party was kind of awesome too. She stuck with him pretty much all night, not that he needed her too. She introduced him to all her friends and costars, and they were actually impressed that he knew the play so well. Then he made a joke about Rachel not exactly being quiet when she was rehearsing songs or running lines, and that got a few laughs and a cute little scowl from Rachel.

And now it's his day off, and he's up at 7:00, getting coffee and breakfast and flowers, and reading the reviews in the paper before she sees them (so he knows if he has to comfort or congratulate). He's one of those schmucks who buys 10 copies of each of the papers that's reviewed the show, then he heads home.

Rachel's already awake, though just barely, he thinks. She's rubbing her eye, and her hair is shooting off in every direction. Her pants are askew, the little bow that's supposed to be in the middle is off to the side a bit, and her (his) NYPD tee shirt is wrinkled.

She looks amazing.

Then she notices the roses resting in the crook of his elbow and she smiles lazily at him. "Noah."

He walks towards her, kisses her forehead and hands her the bouquet. "This seems like a red roses kind of production," he explains.

Her heart beats like crazy in her chest.

"Thank you," she almost whispers, smelling the gorgeous red roses in her hands. She eyes the bags in his hands, then notices the stack of papers in the plastic bag. "What...?"

"Coffee," he insists, handing her a paper cup from the same coffee shop she used to work at. "Blueberry danish." He passes her the pastry in its little bag (it's her favourite, okay?) "Reviews."

He pulls out the Post, The Times, The Daily News, and The Observer. She tenses as she stares at the papers like they're bombs or something. He pushes her towards the dining table and forces her to sit down, then he sits next to her and takes a dramatically long sip of his coffee and a bite of his bagel. He does it just to piss her off. Of course. When he leafs slowly through the pages to get to the section he needs, she stomps her foot on the ground.

"Hurry!" she cries. "God, you're just doing this to annoy me! You're such a shit disturber!"

"You're just figuring this out now?" he asks with a laugh.

"Noah! _Read_."

Okay, now she's scaring him.

He clears his throat and glances to the page, complete with a picture of Rachel as Maria. "I'm just gonna skip to the good parts. The parts about you. You can read the rest of the shit later," he informs her, and she actually laughs. "Rachel Berry's portrayal of the beautiful Maria is just that; beautiful. She brings a charisma, an elegance to a role oft-played. Simply put, Berry is lovely, just as any Maria should be."

"Oh my god!" she cries.

"Now, hang on. That's just one of them," he reminds her, pulling out the arts section of the Times. "Berry steals the show. Perhaps it's easy to assume that would be the case, given that Maria is the central character. Berry makes her worth watching, no matter how many times one might have seen the show. It's new, it's fresh, it's inviting. There's a sense of heartbreak and longing that has been missing from productions of West Side Story in recent years. Rachel Berry has brought the star back to this show."

He looks up at her after he's done reading, and she's crying. She's full on crying. She buries her face in her hands and shakes her head. "I can't believe it. This is...It's crazy!"

"It's all you, babe," Puck says seriously. She stands up and moves to sit on his lap, which he thinks is a little weird, but he's not about to complain because, you know, he's not a moron. "You're a star."

Those must be some kind of magic words, because she leans forward and kisses him gently, then throws her arms around his neck.

It'd be a hell of a lot easier to not be into this girl if she didn't do things like that.

But it's like every time she kisses him, he feels just how much more he wants from her. And normally, he'd be the kind of guy who'd just grab her and kiss her and tell her he wanted her, and that'd be that.

But with Rachel, it's different.

With Rachel, it's always been different.

----

Any time he meets her at the theater, which is about once a week, give or take, Rachel tries to keep her friends from seeing him. They've all already met him, of course, but Rachel doesn't like the way Maya was eyeing him, and she doesn't like the way Jana and Oscar look at her when Noah is around. They aren't exactly subtle, and the last thing Rachel needs is Noah knowing that she's talked about him with them.

Oh god. Actually, the last thing she needs is him knowing what, exactly, she said to them.

She's exhausted, literally. After the show, she's in her dressing room, stripping the stage makeup from her face and pulling her hair into a simple ponytail, and she actually finds herself drifting off, even though she's clearly got things to do.

When she opens her eyes and looks in the mirror, she sees Noah standing against the door frame with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

"What are you doing here? I thought you told me to meet you outside," she says, grabbing another tissue.

"I got out earlier than I thought. Flashed the badge and the guy by the stage door let me in. You guys really oughta get tougher security in this place," he says, stepping towards her. He could be making fun of her right now; only half her face is covered in a thick coat of makeup, the other half bare.

"Maybe you just shouldn't abuse your power."

"What's the point of being a cop if I can't abuse my power?" he jokes.

He walks over and perches himself on the edge of her vanity, watching as she goes through her post-show routine. Well, he assumes it's routine. He's never really seen her this soon after a show. Usually, when they meet up, he just hangs around outside or goes to the coffee shop around the corner and waits for her.

"You know, this is pretty much the least attractive thing I could do in front of you," she says with a laugh, discarding yet another cotton ball.

"Rachel," he laughs, "we've been living together pretty much since we were 18. I've seen you without makeup before."

"I know, but...it's weird," she says quietly.

He gets up, stands behind her and starts rubbing her shoulders like he knows she likes. Their eyes lock in the mirror as she continues to wipe her face.

"You're beautiful," he almost whispers.

He watches as she gnaws at her bottom lip a little, as the blush creeps up to her cheeks, as she stares at him in the mirror, trying to figure out why that sounded different than their normal comments to one another. Is it in her head? Does he really think she's beautiful? She can't think of a time when he actually said the word. She doesn't know how to respond.

"Thank you."

He winks at her, and her stomach flips. His hands feel so good on her, gliding over the thin cotton of the plain white tee shirt she's wearing, and she thinks it'd be even nicer if she wasn't wearing anything at all.

Actually, she knows it would be.

Then she thinks about other things he does with his hands, other things she knows feel good, and she's sure her breathing has sped up.

"Rach?"

"What?" she asks quickly, pulled from very inappropriate thoughts.

"You alright? I lost you there for a sec."

"Fine," she answers, throwing on a smile. "I'm fine."

He looks at her like he doesn't believe her. She knows he doesn't.

She's almost certain he could follow her train of thought if he really wanted to.

(He wanted to. He totally knew she was thinking about him calling her beautiful, which she is, by the way. And then he saw that kind of far off look in her eyes, the one he knows he gets when he's thinking 'impure thoughts', as Rachel calls them.)

"You wanna grab a drink or something?" he suggests.

Tequila? Lots of it? (Fucking Hamptons weekend always messes with his head. He'd like a repeat. Or, you know, a lot of them.)

"Actually..._oh_..." She lets out this little moan when his thumb kneads between her shoulder blades. "There. Right there."

Jesus Christ.

He thinks she's trying to make it impossible for him not to want her.

(She's not actually _trying_ to do anything; his talented hands are just reminding her how much she enjoys him, in every way.)

He focuses his attention and his thumbs on the spot that made her moan again (fuck, that sounds good, doesn't it?) and she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

"You were saying?" he says after a few moments.

"It's just that Jana and Oscar asked if I wanted to...Oh my _god_, Noah," she breathes out. He smirks at her in the mirror. Yeah, he's awesome at this massage thing. "That's amazing."

He chuckles a little bit. "Apparently. Rachel Berry isn't finishing her sentences?"

"Shut up," she giggles. "They asked if I wanted to go out, but I said you and I have to get home."

"Yeah?" he asks, voice all low. "How come?"

She takes a deep breath. Mission accomplished, if you ask him.

"I just want to be at home. In my pajamas. Maybe getting more of this massage."

"Screw that, babe. What's in it for me?" he asks.

She stands up and reaches for her jacket. "I don't know. What do you want?"

He lets out a breathy laugh and they lock eyes. "This is a dangerous game," he says. She thinks he sounds half serious.

"Probably," she admits. She grabs her bag and heads for the door. "Come on. I don't want to have to wait for the subway."

Just like that, they brush it aside, all that flirting. When they get home, they watch ESPN and he drinks water as she sips tea. He doesn't continue the massage, but she gets all relaxed anyway.

He carries her to her bedroom when she falls asleep on the couch. She says his name in her sleep as he tucks her into her bed.

It's really hard not to just stay there with her.

Honestly? He gets the impression that she wouldn't really mind.


	11. Chapter 11

Between Rachel's new fame (she says it's not, he says it is; there have been interviews and photo shoots and all that kind of stuff) and her performances and Puck's work, they haven't seen much of each other. It's a little too reminiscent of the time before everything went bad, so Rachel changes her sleep schedule a little bit and stays up some nights when he gets home late. They'll watch late night television together on the couch and talk about whatever. Or if he works the night shift, she'll have breakfast waiting for him so he can eat before he heads to his den/office to sleep. If he has the day off and she has two shows, he'll meet her at the theater and they'll go out for dinner together.

(She ignores her friends every time they tell her she acts like a girlfriend and Puck acts like a boyfriend.)

But it's weird, she thinks, because the more they make fun of her, the more she thinks that wouldn't be so bad. Actually, it'd be amazing.

There are moments when she thinks she's totally in love with him. Like when she gets cold and instead of her getting up and grabbing a sweater from her room, he'll take his off and give it to her. Then it'll smell like him and already be warm from being on his body and she gets that rush of something coursing through her. Or if they're shopping and she's taking too long for his liking, he'll grab her hand and weave their fingers together so he can pull her along. (Sometimes she's slow just so he'll do it.)

It's ridiculous, she knows, falling for your best friend, your roommate, and the only person you truly know.

But is it? Is it really that crazy or out of the ordinary that she develop feelings for him? If she's telling the truth, the feelings have probably been there all along.

So now she spends more time than she should thinking about if he thinks about her. If he feels anything for her. If he wants her.

If he loves her.

She's replying to a few emails in her candle-lit bedroom when the door opens and closes at midnight, a little too loudly for her liking. Not because it bothers her, but because she knows something's bothering him.

She hears the fridge door slam, then the unmistakable sound of a beer being cracked open. It's not like him not to say hello to her before doing something else.

When she steps into the kitchen, he's standing there leaning against the counter with one hand resting on the surface.

"Hey," she says quietly.

"Shit. Did I wake you up?" he asks worriedly. She smiles, and somehow that makes him feel better.

"No. I was awake," she tells him. He just nods slowly and it worries her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Noah." She tilts her head at him, just to let him know that he can't fool her. "What's wrong?"

He takes a big breath and lets it out, then tips his head back. "Just had a really shitty day, that's all."

As she looks at him, she notices the tension on his face, how rigid his shoulders appear. She'd offer a massage if she knew how to give one. She's worried about him, though, because he usually doesn't let things get to him. The other couple times he's had rough days at work, he's gone out with the guys afterward for beer. Rachel knows a lot more talking goes on during those outings than he probably wants to admit. She wonders why they aren't out doing that now.

"Maybe it would help to talk about it," she suggests. "You never really talk about work."

"It's fine. You don't need to listen to my stories." He says it like it's a ridiculous notion, which she thinks is pretty stupid.

"Noah, you know all about my work."

He knows she's trying to help, and he loves her for it, but he just can't deal with this right now. She's too good to him, but he really doesn't want her to have to think about the stuff he has to deal with. It's not fair to her.

"Your work is different," he reminds her. "Your work is..."

"Is what?" she asks quietly, taking a step closer.

"Dammit, Rach!" he shouts, slamming his fist on the counter. She flinches, but he's not looking at her, so he doesn't notice. "You don't want to hear about the shit I see! You don't want to hear about us walking into a room and seeing a seven year old girl, _dead_, with hand prints on her neck from where her own _father_ strangled her!" When he looks at her, he feels like a jackass, because she looks scared, and she shouldn't be scared of him. "You don't wanna fucking hear that shit." There are tears in her eyes and he hates himself. He closes his eyes and turns toward her, setting his beer down on the counter. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't..."

"That's terrible," she says quietly. "That's..."

"It's disgusting. And I don't want you to have to deal with it," he says. His voice is sincere, and his eyes are soft, like he's really worried about how she'll react if he tells her what he encounters. "This isn't like watching CSI on television, where you can just say it isn't real and change the channel after."

"Which is why you should talk about it."

"I don't want to talk about it," he says seriously. "I just want to forget about it right now."

The _last_ thing he expects is her to take another step towards him and lean up to press her lips to his.

He'd think nothing of it, but this isn't like those other little kisses she gives him sometimes. This is her lips lingering against his and her hand coming to rest on his hip. And this time, he can't help but kiss her back.

"Rach..."

She presses herself against him and runs her hand over his cheek gently. "Let me help you forget."

Maybe it's crazy. Maybe she shouldn't be doing it, shouldn't be letting herself do this right now, but seeing him come undone, which he rarely, if ever, does, just reminds her of the man she knows he is, the one she _loves_ sometimes, and she loves him right now.

He doesn't know why he kisses her, pulls her against him and lets her ball his shirt in his fists. He really shouldn't. The memory of what happened the last time they did this is still fresh in his mind. But then, all the good memories are there, too, the way she said his name and how he felt to be inside her and how it was the best sex he'd ever had. If he thought he was just using her as an escape, he'd pull himself away from her. But it's not that.

He fucking _wants_ her.

He pulls her tee shirt over her head and runs his hands down her back as her tongue delves into his mouth, moving against his own. He doesn't know what she's been drinking, but she tastes like peppermint, and her lips are really, really fucking soft. And she's wearing nothing but a bra and her pajama pants, standing in front of him and pushing herself as close to him as she can.

As she toys with the bottom of his tee shirt, he takes her wrists in his and pulls away (as much as it kills him to do it). "Are you sure about this? Because last time..."

"This isn't like last time," she says quietly, looking into his eyes. "It's not."

"How's it different?" He doesn't know why he asks. He thinks he just wants to hear her say that it's not just sex. She just bites her lip (which is totally hot). "How, Rachel?"

"It just _is_," she promises. "I want you." She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him softly, so softly that their lips barely touch. "So bad, Noah."

"Dammit, Rach," he sighs. He can't say no to something like that. And she hasn't answered his question. Well, she has, but he doesn't know what the fuck her answer means. "I want you too."

She gathers her courage and loses herself in the sensation of his hands running slowly up and down her back. She takes another step towards him, so they can't get any closer, and runs her hand through his hair.

"Not just right now, though. Right?" she asks. His eyes meet hers and he's smiling a little bit.

(He swears she can feel how fast his heart is beating right now.)

"No, not just right now," he admits.

The way she smiles and kisses him again leads him to believe that she feels the same way, that they're on the same page for once.

There will be no more questions tonight.

She doesn't even know how long they stand there, just kissing, and the goosebumps on her skin are from his touch, feather light. He's touching her like he never has, kissing her like he never has. It's gentle, like he doesn't want to stop kissing her and he'll do this for as long as she'll let him. It's _not_ like last time. There's no urgency to this, no rush. And yes, they're still in the kitchen, but she's sure they'll make it to her room at some point.

And as nice as slow is, she's getting impatient. She reaches between them and unbuckles his belt with one hand as the other pushes up his tee shirt, and he laughs against her mouth. He pulls away and tugs his shirt up over his head, and he swears he's going to lose his shit when she bites her bottom lip and stares at his body.

"So sexy," she murmurs as she leans in and presses kisses along the planes of his chest, up his neck until she reaches his mouth again.

And if she's trying to kill him, he decides this is the right way to do it.

She slides down his zipper and he rests his forehead against hers. He still doesn't know if he should really believe this is happening. He thinks he's wanted it since the last time they did this.

He unclasps her bra and carefully pulls it down her arms, then it falls to the floor with her shirt and his. His hands move up her sides until they settle on her breasts, and she arches her back a little bit into him. Her skin is hot to the touch, and she pulls him closer, which does nothing for how hard he is except make him let out a groan.

"Fuck, Rachel." He doesn't even know what that means. It's just what he says, because she's pressing against him in all the best ways, and if he didn't know where the night was going, he wouldn't be sure if he wanted more or less of her.

(More, though. Always more.)

When she starts kissing her way down his chest, over his stomach, pushing down his jeans in the process, he can't help the way his hands slip into her hair. Then she's on her knees in front of him, kissing along the waistband of his boxers before she pushes them down off his hips.

He absolutely _cannot_ tell her to stop.

She runs her hands down the back of his thighs and smiles wickedly when he unwillingly thrusts his hips forward. He's just about to start begging or something equally as embarrassing, but then she leans forward and swirls her tongue over his tip. He moans and looks down at her, her perfect mouth taking him in, further and further, and he brushes her hair back, totally just to get a better view. She holds up her arm, and he's not sure what the fuck she's doing, but then he sees the hair elastic sitting on her wrist, and he actually laughs.

_Coolest. Girl. Ever. _

He knows shit all about making ponytails and stuff, but he's kind of desperate to get her hair out of the way (he thinks she is too) so he gathers her hair in one hand and slips the elastic around it into a messy pony tail, that, if he may say so, looks pretty fucking hot.

"You're a dirty girl, aren't you, baby?" he asks. Her eyes meet his and she lets out an_ 'mmm'_ which sends the most amazing sensation through his body. "Fuck. God..."

He always knew those years of talking and singing and _talking_ had to do wonders for that mouth of hers. And he didn't get enough of a demonstration the last time they did this. And she's a perfectionist, so it's pretty much a given that she'd be fucking excellent.

But then he's hitting the back of her throat, and he swears he's about thirty seconds from coming in her mouth. Which, judging by the way she's looking up at him, she wouldn't be adverse to.

Even so, he grabs onto her ponytail (gently, of course) and tugs her backward just a little bit. Her lips pull away from him, and she actually fucking _pouts_. She didn't want to stop.

He just really, _really_ needs to fuck her.

She gets to her feet and grabs the beer from the counter, taking a swig, then handing it to him. She bends down, right in front of him (her ass grazes his cock and she giggles when he groans) and gathers their shirts and her bra, then walks away.

He's standing there, totally confused, and then she glances over her shoulder at him and says, "coming?"

_Fuck yes_.

He catches up to her halfway between the kitchen and her bedroom, and he wraps his arms around her and kisses her shoulders and her neck. She can't walk when he's doing this. She's totally distracted by the way his fingertips are dipping below the waistband of her pajama pants.

"Noah. My room," she breathes out as his other hand comes up to caress her breast. "Please."

"You're begging? Not like you, Rachel," he teases, nipping at her ear.

"Just do what I tell you."

He chuckles and grips her hips, pulling her back towards him. "I don't fucking think so, babe."

She reaches for the waistband of her pants, but he grabs her wrist, then turns her around so she's facing him. He's totally naked, and she's wearing just her pajama bottoms, and he thinks that she doesn't really want to boss him around. She just wants him to touch her. He pushes her backwards so she's stumbling into her bedroom, and he doesn't really know why, but he kicks the door closed behind them.

When her knees hit the side of the mattress, he hooks his arms around her waist and holds her tight to him, then leans down and kisses her hard on the mouth. Her hands run down his bare sides and then move around to rest on his ass. He groans from low in his throat and grinds himself against her stomach, and she breaks the kiss to let out a guttural moan. It's _got_ to be the sexiest thing he's ever heard.

He hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants and flicks his wrist, pulling them down so they pool at her feet. She's not wearing any underwear. She giggles when his head falls to her shoulder.

"Were you planning this?" he murmurs against her skin, brushing his lips across her collarbone. It'd be really, hot (hotter) if she had planned it.

"Happy accident," she breathes out.

"Fuck." It's kind of a laugh, and she runs her hands through his hair, then pulls him with her when she lays down on her bed. He's laying next to her on his side, pressed against her, and she kisses him again. He feels like he's been kissing this girl this way forever. It's strange, really, how comfortable it is, how right it seems. But it's still totally hot, at the same time. "Tell me what you want, baby."

She closes her eyes and tips her head back. As much as she loves that he wants to do this for her, and as romantic as she thinks it might be, she'd be happy with just about anything at this point.

"Just you," she whispers, reaching down to stroke him.

"Say it, Rach." He leans toward her a little more, his lips grazing her neck as he speaks.

"I just did!"

"Wasn't clear."

"You're such a jerk," she says, which makes them both laugh a little bit. "Noah." He pulls away from her so he can look at her. "I want..." Her eyes are locked with his, and he doesn't think she's paying attention to the hand that's ghosting over her stomach, but then she spreads her legs a little and he smirks as he slips his hand between them. "_Oh_..."

"Hmm?" he mumbles, kissing her cheek. "You were saying?"

She sinks back into the mattress, and there's a part of her that wants to tell him to shut the hell up and just keep doing what he's doing. But of course he's not going to let her get away with that. But she doesn't know what words to use. _Make love to me_ sounds far too serious. She's never been one of those girls who was bold enough to tell a man she needed him inside her.

So though she's used the word only a handful of times in her entire life, she decides she'll speak his language.

"Fuck me, Noah. Please." The last part comes out a little breathily, because he rubs his middle finger over her most sensitive spot a little harder than he has been.

He thinks she's trying to make him come before he's even inside her. Her talking like that is enough to make him press himself against her and kiss her. He notices she's moving, sliding a little further away from him, which feels like pretty much the worst thing in the world. When he looks over, she's got her hand in the drawer of the bedside table, and she hands him a condom.

"Last time..." he says stupidly.

"This isn't like last time," she repeats.

She doesn't want to think about how he manages to kiss her until she's breathless at the same time as he slips a condom on with one hand, but he does it, and she thinks it's just about the hottest thing in the world. Just about. Because when he spreads her thighs with his hands, then leans over her, he presses against her deliciously. He's not even inside her yet and she's already so close it's almost frightening.

He kisses her, and his hand lands on her hip as he enters her. She lets out this sexy noise from the back of her throat, and it nearly _kills_ him, he swears. He stays still for a few moments, because he thinks she needs it, and he definitely does. This isn't going to last at all if he doesn't try to take his time.

But then Rachel lifts her hips and presses him closer, her hands at the small of his back, and she murmurs, "please," again, and he pulls out almost completely, just so he can see if he can make her make that sound again. He does.

"God," he breathes out as he starts a rhythm. "You know how fucking hot you are, baby? Fuck, I can't believe it took us this long."

She bites her lip and smirks, leaning up to kiss him, then trailing her lips along his jaw and towards his ear. "You wanted me," she whispers, lips grazing his earlobe. He's already admitted to this once tonight. She doesn't know why she says again, like she needs confirmation.

He moans as he pushes into her, hitching her leg a little higher. "So bad. God...so bad, Rach."

"Noah," she says breathlessly. "Shut up now."

He actually laughs, then kisses her again. Time to get serious. He wants to make her come so hard she forgets her own name. Judging by the way she's digging her fingertips into his shoulder blades, he thinks he might be able to do it.

The thing is, he's the fucking king of the dirty talk. He's had a lot of practice and a lot of success. In fact, he's used it before when he was ready to let go and his partner wasn't there. Now Rachel's telling him to shut up, and he thinks that's hot as hell, but at the same time, he thinks it's weird that she's so talkative all the time, and so quiet right now. He'd love to hear some dirty stuff come from her mouth. But then he'd run the risk of this being all over too soon, because he's sure that if she said something especially hot, he'd be totally fucked.

There's something about being with Noah like this that she knows is different. It's not just that he's so good (he is; _god_, he is). It's something to do with trust, with how well he knows her. She doesn't understand that, really, since they've only done this a few times, and even then it was like he knew everything about her. He knows where to touch her and how to kiss her. He feels so goddamn good inside her that it makes her wonder how she has ever thought she could be with someone who isn't him.

"Stop thinking," he says, and the sound is muffled against her neck as he kisses her.

She doesn't know how he knows. She thinks she likes that he does. Then she realizes he's moving them so she's on top, and she giggles a little bit, then lets out a highly unattractive (to her own ears, anyway) grunt when she feels him deeper than he was before.

She just sits there on top of him for a moment, her hands running up and down his chest. He's moving his hands over her smooth thighs. When she leans forward to kiss him, he moans at the way her hips roll against his and her chest presses up against him.

"You're going to make me work for it?" she asks with a dirty little smile, rotating her hips. He sees stars and hisses out her name.

"Fuck yeah."

She laughs again. He doesn't know why this turns him on even more, but it does. He's very close to just lifting her up himself (she weighs like, 100 pounds; he could lift her with one hand) when she sits up again and starts moving against him. She feels so good, so tight, around him that he closes his eyes because the visual is almost too much right now. Her messy hair and her swollen lips are just the tip of the iceberg. Then there's the matter of her, naked, riding him. And he can't bear to think of what she's doing with her own hands, because they sure as fuck aren't touching him right now. Curiosity gets the best of him and he opens his eyes, only to see her with one hand on her breast and the other trailing down her stomach.

No fucking way is he going to let that happen.

He flips them over again and she wraps her legs around his waist, locking her heels at the small of his back.

"You don't even know," he says gruffly. "You're so fucking sexy, Rachel. I can't even..."

She kisses him hard and starts meeting him thrust for thrust again. "_Shut. Up_," she repeats forcefully. As forcefully as she can when her voice is stuck somewhere in her chest.

He's just about to tell her that he likes it when she bosses him around, but then she arches her back and digs her heels into his back, moaning out his name, which makes him pretty much lose his train of thought. He snaps his hips and she clenches around him just once.

"Baby..."

"Noah. So close."

He repeats the same action a few times, until she's curling her fingers around his bicep and she lets out this noise that's almost a whine as she tips her head back. One more stroke and she's calling out his name, tightening around him, and he lets his head fall to her shoulder as she takes him with her. He wants so badly to look at her, but he's so far gone that he can't open his eyes.

He collapses on top of her, her legs still tight around him and her hands still on his skin. It's tacky with sweat, and when she kisses his neck, her tongue darts out to taste him. They're both breathing heavily, and when he tries to pull himself away from her, Rachel tightens her thighs and lets her hands run down his arms.

"Not yet," she whispers. "I like you here."

He shifts his hips just once. He's pretty sure that's not _exactly_ what she means. "Me too," he says quietly. They smile at one another and he kisses her hard, letting his tongue slip past her lips to move against her own. He pulls away before he has a chance to get carried away again. She whines when he pulls out so he can move off her. "Sorry."

(He honestly doesn't know _why_ he's apologizing.)

She laughs a little bit, and when he lays down next to her after pitching the condom, she lets herself think that it's crazy that they have separate bedrooms. She wants to keep him here.

"Stay in here with me," she says, nuzzling closer to him, draping her arm across his stomach.

"Plan on it."

"Promise?"

"Yeah," he says, pressing a kiss to her hair.

He doesn't expect her to get up and walk out of the room. He's not sure where she's going or what she's doing, but it's way too cold without her laying there next to him. He runs his hand over his face before getting up and tugging back the covers so he can slip into bed.

She returns with a glass of water in her hand, and he watches as she takes a long sip. She hands the glass to him and he takes a drink, then sets it on the bedside table as Rachel steps closer to him.

He notices the faint red marks on her hips from where he was holding her, and he runs his hands lightly over the spots, kissing her soft skin as she stands there next to the bed. Then she catches sight of herself in the mirror. She looks thoroughly _had_. It makes her smile a little bit.

"My hair looks ridiculous," she laughs, reaching up to pull the elastic from her 'ponytail' (if it can even be called that at this point.)

Puck reaches up and grabs her wrist, then pulls her back towards him. "Leave it," he says gruffly. His hands ghost over the skin of her back, and she just smiles as they both move to get back into bed. "It's sexy"

"You just like it because you made it look like this," she says, laughing softly, and he smirks, all proud.

She slips beneath the covers and into his arms, and it all feels so right that she knows it should terrify her. But nothing about Noah scares her anymore. It all just _works_.

"We should talk tomorrow," she says after blowing out the candle by her bedside that had been lighting the room.

"Mmm. No avoiding me," he teases, letting his hold on her tighten momentarily.

"No avoiding," she confirms. "What time do you work?"

"2:00."

She lets out a little mewl and turns in his arms so her chest is pressed against his and their legs tangle together. "Good. That means we can do all that again in the morning."

She feels him hardening against her thigh, and she laughs a little. "Not funny," he insists. "You can't say that."

"Sleep, Noah," she says, kissing him gently, running her hand down his back.

Sleep is just about the last thing on his mind. And yet when he closes his eyes after noticing her breathing slow down, he finds that he falls asleep quickly.

His girl wears him out.

And she is _his_ girl.

He's going to see to it.


	12. Chapter 12

By the time Rachel actually gets out of bed in the morning, she realizes that doing two shows today is going to be really difficult. He woke her up at 6:00 am by slipping his hand between her thighs, and she hasn't been to sleep since. She hasn't left the bed since. He hasn't stopped touching her since.

It's 10:00.

"Oh," she groans when she stands up. Noah is laying in the center of the bed with an accomplished smirk on his face. "Today should be interesting."

"Good start," he says as she wraps her robe around her body. She turns to face at him again. She likes the way he looks in her bed. "What? 'S'true."

"Maybe, but..." She bites her lip and her cheeks turn pink. He thinks it's adorable that she still gets shy around him.

He sits up, the covers still over his lap, and swings his legs over the side of the bed so he's sitting in front of her. "What?" he asks, reaching for her hips.

"I can barely walk," she says softly. He looks far too proud of this. "It's not funny! I have to dance today. Not everyone gets to cruise around in a cop car all day."

His jaw drops. They both know his job has a lot more to it than that. "You hurt me, baby," he says, faking offense.

She laughs softly and pats his cheek. "I'm going to shower. Breakfast would be amazing, though," she says, smiling at him when he raises his brow. "Pancakes?"

"I see how this is gonna be."

He grins at her and she blows him a kiss as she leaves the room.

And then she bites the inside of her cheek as she closes the bathroom door, because he's just basically told her that he wants them to be together. _Together_, together. And it makes her feel...amazing. She wants it too, so badly. If she hadn't already wanted it, the things he said last night and this morning certainly would have sealed the deal. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought, at one point, that he was about to tell her he loved her or something.

The warm water runs over her aching muscles, and she thinks about what he said last night.

She can't believe it's taken them this long to get together, either.

Puck grabs a pair of sweats from his den/office and pulls them on before heading into the kitchen. First things first, he starts a pot of coffee. He has a feeling they're both going to need it. He didn't really mean to wake her up so early, but she said his name in her sleep, which woke him up and made a million things course through his body, and he couldn't help himself; he _had_ to touch her again.

He can hear the water running, and if they weren't on a bit of a timeline here, he'd totally just go and push the door open to join her. But they have to talk, and they both have to get ready for their days. She has to leave before him, and he knows there's no way she can be late getting to the theater.

See? He's considerate.

There's a part of him that's still shocked over this latest turn of events. The rest of him thinks it's the most natural progression in the world. She's his sexy, perfect, amazing best friend who he loves, and has loved for years. Even if that is merely in the friendship way (which he's not entirely sure it is) it's still something to build on. And judging by the way she's been reacting to him (after all, she's the one who initiated everything last night) she feels the same way. This is different than last time already. He's not going to let them make it awkward.

She walks out of the bathroom after blow drying her hair, and Noah is just setting breakfast on the table. There's coffee, pancakes and bacon, and she laughs a little bit, because he's always saying what bad Jews they are for eating pork products.

She sits down across from him, their legs tangling together beneath the table, and takes a sip of coffee, prepared for her just how she likes it. God, she could get used to this.

But then, she thinks, she already _is_ used to it. They've been doing this kind of thing for a while, just without the touching and the memory of how she was woken up fresh in her mind.

And as nice as it is to just sit with him, watching as he drowns his pancakes in syrup like he always does. They've been just eating in silence, but she needs to get this conversation over with.

"Noah, do you want to be with me?" she asks. He wants to laugh at how serious she sounds. "I'd like an honest answer. I'm fairly certain I already know it, but it'd be nice to hear you say the words. And we both know that this situation has the potential to be terrible, with both of us feeling miserable. Well, I was miserable last time, and I think you might have been too. But anyway...that is my question."

He smiles at her across the table. Very rarely does she ever talk so much anymore. She's more laid back now. He likes these little glimpses of High School Rachel.

"Sorry. Uh...what gave you the impression that I want to be with you?" It's really freaking hard not to smile when her face falls and she just stares at him. She opens her mouth to speak a couple times, only to close it again. "Rachel," he says, and she meets his eyes again. "Of course I fucking want to be with you." She kicks his shin under the table. "Ow! Jesus! It's not my fault you're gullible."

"Seriously, Noah, that was just cruel. I can't believe you just did that. I thought my heart was breaking. You're so incredibly mean to me. You know that? I don't even know why..."

She stops talking when he gets up and rounds the table, then kneels next to her. One hand is on the back of her chair and the other falls onto her thigh. "Come on, baby, you know I like to joke."

"You need to work on your timing," she practically pouts.

"Sorry," he says, leaning up to kiss her. She tastes like coffee and syrup. It's perfect. "And didn't we go over all this last night?"

She smiles and turns so she's facing him, drapes her arms over his shoulders. "I forgot," she admits quietly. She's blushing. He thinks he had a hand (or two) in helping her forget. But even that should have proven it all anyway. "So, really? You and me?"

"Apparently," he says with a smile.

She lifts her legs, maneuvering them so they're outside his own, and she pulls him closer. He can't help but do what she wants him to. When she kisses him, he almost falls forward onto his knees, but he braces his hands against her hips.

"I have to get ready," she says regrettably. She'd love nothing more than to stay at their place with him all day, but she has to leave soon, and him shortly after her.

But he kisses her again and his hands sneak beneath her shirt. "I hate work."

She laughs a little bit and nods. "You're off at 10:00?" she asks, and he lets out a noise from the back of his throat that she's pretty sure is a confirmation. "Meet me at the theater. We'll come home together."

He smiles and tries to kiss her again, but she stands. It makes his hands move to her ass as he groans in frustration. He's practically whining. He wants her to stay in the apartment. Forever. With him. Fucking stupid jobs and the need to make money getting in the way.

He follows her to her bedroom and lays on her bed while she gets dressed and does her makeup, and as she pulls on her jacket and reaches for her bag, she notices that he's not getting up.

"You need to get ready," she reminds him with a laugh. "Come on. I'll walk you to your room on my way to the door."

"This roommates dating thing is just so convenient," he says, standing up and kissing her cheek.

As soon as she's left the apartment, he lets himself smile hugely. Like, embarrassingly big. he's been holding it in all morning. Since last night, really.

He's finally got the girl. About fucking time.

----

There just _has_ to be a massive fire in a downtown apartment complex that turns out to be arson, and he just _has_ to get the call an hour before his shift ends. He texts Rachel as soon as he gets the call, just as Jay flips on the sirens and guns it through a red light.

_Can't meet you. Sorry babe. Working late. See you at home. _

Even though he hates that he has to send it, he likes the way all that sounds.

----

Rachel's phone is blinking after her show is over, and she's disappointed when she reads his text, but she understands completely. It's not his fault. She texts back, telling him to be careful, though she knows he probably won't even get the message until after his shift is over.

She makes her way home on her own, and she tries to get to sleep.

It's far more difficult without him.

----

It's close to 2:00 when he gets home. All he wants to do is sleep with his girl next to him.

When he steps into his den/office and flicks on the light, he's surprised (the really good kind) when he sees Rachel laying there in the middle of his bed with the covers pulled up to her chest.

He steps out of his jeans and pulls off his tee shirt, switching the light off again before he climbs into bed and pulls her into his arms.

"Mmm. Noah."

It's like everything he encountered during his day just fades away when he hears her soft little voice.

"Go back to sleep, baby."

He leaves a kiss on the back of her shoulder and closes his eyes.

It's nice, sleeping with Rachel.

----

He wakes up early in the morning with her arm over his waist as she lays on her stomach. Her face is turned towards him and her lips are just slightly parted.

He finds it just a little hard to breathe for a minute or two.

He's a _boyfriend_.

He doesn't even know the last time he was a boyfriend.

That's a really heavy fucking thought.

----

When he wakes up again he's alone in bed, and despite the fact that he had a bit of a panic attack at 5:00 am, he doesn't much like that Rachel's not laying next to him.

He tries to think about it, about himself, about why he'd freak out over the fact that there's a label on their relationship now. He's wanted her for so long, and now he has her, so what is he so scared of? It's not like anything's going to change, right? They'll just have sex and make more time to be together. But it'll all be the same. They'll live together and have all the same stupid jokes, and she won't expect anything of him, right?

Oh, shit. She's going to expect things of him now.

He gets up and grabs a pair of jeans off his floor and a plain white tee shirt from his dresser. He reaches for his sneakers, his badge and his jacket from where he dropped them when he came in last night. He stuffs his phone and wallet into his pocket.

When he walks out into the main part of the apartment, he sees Rachel sitting at the table with the newspaper and a cup of coffee. She smiles when she sees him and he smiles back, just because he can't help it. She's wearing one of his NYPD tee shirts. And nothing else. Well, maybe panties, but her legs are crossed and he can't tell. She's worn his shirts a thousand times before, but this is different.

She's his girlfriend.

"Hey, I'm, uh...gonna go in early and hit the gym," he says. God, he's lame. He should really, really just talk to her. He's just not ready for that yet.

"Okay," she says, nodding gently.

She's so sweet that it makes this even harder. She isn't even questioning his weird behaviour. She just understands him. If she can tell something's wrong (which, face it, she probably can) she's just going to let him deal with it until she feels the need to step in.

"So I'll see you tonight," he says. He throws her a wink and heads out the door.

He's halfway down the hall when he curses to himself and walks back into the apartment. He leaves the door open behind him and stalks over to her, leaning down to kiss her like he should have done minutes ago.

"Did you forget to do that before?" she asks. She laughs a little and fists his tee shirt as he braces his hand on the table, still leaning over her.

"Sort of. I mean, this _is_ just day two," he tells her. He almost wonders if he's trying to remind her of how young their relationship is, to maybe reign in what she thinks about it or something.

He's a jackass.

He kisses her again, then pulls away.

"Have a good day, Noah."

"Later, babe."

He leaves again, and he's almost 100 per cent positive that she knows he's losing it. And why.

He's taking his aggressions (they're all with himself) out on a speedbag when he realizes that it's probably making her feel like shit, having to know that he's freaking out over the fact that they're now together.

----

If she didn't know him so well, she'd probably be really, really upset.

But if she remembers correctly, and she thinks she is, the last girl he truly dated was Quinn, and was in high school.

It's not like this thing between them is just sex. It's more than that. A lot more, obviously.

She supposes she can't really blame him for going a little crazy. He's never truly done the relationship thing. A few months with one girl as a high school student isn't the same as an adult relationship with the girl who has become his best friend in the last few years. It's probably too much for him to deal with right now, so she'll let him have his little meltdown, and if he doesn't come to her on his own, then she'll talk to him.

She can do the adult relationship thing. She thinks she'll teach him, too.

----

The third time Puck yawns during the first hour of his shift, Jay cocks his brow and looks over to his partner.

"I know we had a late night, but c'mon, kid. I got a three year old and a wife at home and I'm wide awake."

"Couldn't sleep," Puck mumbles.

"What's her name?" Jay asks with a smirk.

It's a joke, he thinks, but Puck has come to realize that confiding in Jay about things is actually kind of...good. They've talked about their families. Both have deadbeat dads, and Puck has gotten a boost of confidence, knowing that Jay is a great dad to his own kid. Puck has talked about Quinn and the baby they gave up. He kind of feels like Jay is almost a father figure. More like an uncle figure, but whatever.

Anyway, he wants to talk about his relationship. (_Fuck_, he's in a fucking _relationship_.)

"Rachel," he says as they stop at a red light.

"No shit!" Jay cries, reaching over to slug Puck on the arm. "Who called that? I called that about a year ago, didn't I? Dammit, why didn't I start a pool!?"

Puck rolls his eyes and sighs. "Yeah, well, we're...I dunno, we're together."

"You dunno?" Jay asks in a goofy voice, totally mocking Puck.

"We _are_ together, but...I'm kinda losing my shit." Jay laughs and Puck glares at him. "It's not funny! I'm a shitty guy, okay? And the last thing I wanna do is hurt her in any way. Like, ever. So...fuck. I feel like I gotta protect her from _me_, you know? Which is fucked." He stops to let out a sigh, and runs his hand over the back of his neck. "I just...I _don't_ want to hurt her."

"So don't," Jay says with a lazy shrug. That gets him another dirty look. As if it's that fucking easy. "You know that girl better than anyone, right? So you know how not to hurt her." Puck nods, because that actually sounds like it makes sense. "And, you know, she knows you too." Puck's brow furrows. "I'm just sayin'. If you were maybe worried about you getting hurt, too. Or whatever."

He casts Puck a knowing glance, and Puck just stares out the window again. He hates it when Jay's right, especially about stuff like this. It's annoying. He hadn't really thought about that, about himself getting hurt. But it makes sense, if he really thinks about it. His history with women, to say the least, isn't exactly great. Rachel, along with his mom and his sister, has been basically the only woman in his life.

He was right. This _has_ been a long time coming.

"Quit your fuckin' thinking, kid," Jay says, pulling the car into a no-parking spot along the side of the street. "You need a coffee, and I'm done talking about feelings and shit."

Thank fucking god, Puck thinks. To both counts.

----

Puck gets home after Rachel does, which doesn't really surprise him. Her show ended almost two hours ago, and he had to deal with a bunch of bullshit paperwork when he got back to the precinct. And since he's got a soft spot for Jay's little family (seriously, his wife is amazing, and his little girl is adorable) Puck picks up the slack on his partner's work so Jay can head home. Don't say he's not a nice guy.

When he walks into the apartment, it's pitch black and quiet, and as he slips off his shoes, he realizes that crawling into bed with Rachel is definitely going to be the best part of this day.

He expects to see her laying in the middle of his bed again, but when he steps into his den/office, the room is empty. Well, shit. He drops his things onto his dresser, leaving his phone, wallet, keys and badge sitting there, then runs his hand over his head. He knows she's in the apartment.

He thinks she's got to be pissed at him.

When he walks over to her bedroom door, he notices a sliver of light coming from beneath the door. He doesn't bother knocking (really, what's he going to see that he hasn't already?) before pushing the door open. She's laying on her bed in a pair of little shorts and a matching satin camisole. God, she's beautiful. He stands there, just looking at her as he leans against the door frame. She's watching him, too, just a few candles flickering next to the bed.

"Hi," she says after a few moments.

"You aren't in my room." He pushes himself off the door frame and makes his way towards her.

"I thought maybe I'd give you some space," she says quietly as he sits down and rests his hand on the bed on the opposite side of her body. "You seemed like you needed it this morning."

She doesn't seem upset, but he kind of hates himself anyway. He smiles sadly and places his hand on her stomach. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," she says with a little smile. "I understand."

"I was just thinking, you know? You and me...we're so good, right? And I just don't want to lose that." He surprises himself with his honesty. He doesn't do this, talking about feelings and shit. Well, not like _this_. Usually he avoids it until it turns into a fight, then he yells things.

Given that she's still smiling at him, he thinks this might be the better way to go.

"How on earth do you think we'd lose it by making it something better?" she asks, laughing a little at the blank look on his face. "We don't have to rush into anything. We can take this as slow as you need to."

He's shaking his head and moving his thumb slowly over her side, pushing her shirt up a little bit. "You're the coolest girl ever," he says, making her laugh again. He looks around and notices that there's nothing going on in this room. No laptop, no book, no television, no music. "Were you just...waiting for me in here?"

"I hoped you'd come talk to me, yes," she admits. The look she gives him lets him know that she wasn't _just_ wishing for a talk.

"That's really fucking hot, Rach." She smiles coyly and runs her hand up his arm. He definitely likes that.

"I missed you today."

He leans over her a little bit more, and she bends her knee. "Did you?" She lets out this kind of purring sound from the back of her throat, then licks her lips. "I thought about you all day. I think it drove Jay crazy."

She laughs a little bit and grabs the front of his tee shirt in her fist. "Don't talk about Jay anymore, okay?"

All he can do is nod before she kisses him.

Oh, yeah. Dating his roommate? Best idea he's ever had.

----

He's never been the kind to send flowers just because.

Apparently he is now.

There's a bouquet of carnations (a highly underrated flower, in her opinion) in her dressing room that proves it. Four different shades of pink and a card that has his hand writing on it and one of their stupid, irrelevant inside jokes.

It's perfect.

She doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.

----

Turns out, all that stuff about chicks loving getting flowers for no reason? Totally true. He's rewarded in a very, very fun way.

----

She wakes up and they have coffee and sex in the kitchen. And that's before they realize they both have the day off.

She's wearing his shirt, and he's wearing just his boxers (and only because she _made_ him put them back on). She's making scrambled eggs with green and red peppers and three kinds of cheeses; his favourite. Honestly, it hasn't even been a week, and she's already the best girlfriend ever.

"I was thinking I'd go to the..."

"You're not going anywhere," he interrupts, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She giggles a little when he nuzzles her neck.

"You didn't even listen. What if I was going to get something for _you_?"

"You've got enough that you can give me right here." His hands sneak up her torso to land on her breasts, and she shrugs him off, making him laugh. He moves so he's leaning back against the counter next to her.

"You're disgusting."

"You love it." She picks a piece of pepper up off the cutting board and stuffs it into his mouth in hopes of shutting him up. It works for about two seconds. "This is nice."

She smiles and rests her hand on his chest as she works on the eggs. "I'm enjoying it."

He raises his brow and glances over at her, and she turns red before he even makes a joke about her loving this kitchen. And loving _it_ in the kitchen. Sometimes even _he_ thinks he's still a 16 year old boy. He's getting better at biting his tongue though.

"Are you really not letting me go anywhere today?" she asks. They both know, however, that if she wanted to go out, there'd be no stopping her. He doesn't want to tell her what to do, and she won't let him. He digs that about her, too.

"Nope," he says. "I need you to feed me and tend to my needs. I'm a _man_, baby. I need to re-hydrate and nourish myself between rounds."

She shakes her head and puts her hand on her hip. "You keep speaking like that and there won't _be_ any _rounds_."

He slips one hand around her waist and pulls her close, kissing the side of her head. "I just like being here with you."

He says it like it's some big secret, and it makes her heart flutter in her chest. His hand is still resting on her stomach as she turns off the stove. She thinks that even if she really needed to go out, his little confession just now would have made her change her mind.

"Grab plates," she says.

He smacks her ass and does as he's told. She doesn't even scold him.

It's not so bad, being in a relationship with someone who knows everything about you already.


	13. Chapter 13

They've been dating for a month when they have their first fight.

Well, their first fight of any real significance. She's been pissed at him several times for shit that he doesn't even think anyone should ever be pissed at. Since when don't towels go on the floor? (Alright, alright. She's been yelling at him about that for years.) And what fucking business of hers is it if he doesn't fold his socks together? And honestly, they've been fucking almost every day (hell yes!) for a month and she has a problem with him drinking from the orange juice container? _Please_.

And he's gonna go right ahead and blame his mom for this one, because honestly, it's all her fault.

No seriously.

How is he supposed to know that his mom is going to call Rachel? She never calls Rachel? Okay, maybe every once in a while, like, when she can't get ahold of him and wants to make sure he's still alive or whatever.

But apparently this time she just calls Rachel to chat.

This cannot work out well for him.

And this is proven when Rachel bursts into the apartment, slamming things around, then appears in the doorway of his den/office as he lays in his bed in just a pair of sweat pants. (He's been waiting for her. He knows she likes to fool around when they've been apart all day long.)

"What's wrong, baby?" he asks, sitting up a little bit. It's not like he doesn't know something's up with her. He's pretty sure she just threw her shoes across the apartment.

"You!"

"Uh..."

"You haven't told your mother about us!?" she asks angrily, hand on her hip and a glare on her face.

Oh. That.

Which he has a perfect, not _entirely_ sucky explanation for, of course.

Apparently, he doesn't think of that explanation quickly enough.

"Imagine my surprise, _Noah_," (oh, shit; she only ever says his name like that when she's _really_ pissed), "when your mother called me between shows today. We had a lovely conversation. Apparently Hannah got the lead in the school play, and your mother got a raise, and, _oh_, she asked me_ if I'm seeing anyone_!"

"Okay, see, I..."

"I don't know what I'm more upset about. The fact that you're obviously too ashamed that you're in a relationship with me to tell your mother? Or the fact that you simply didn't tell me that you hadn't told her yet. You should be telling me everything."

First of all, he thinks that's kind of bullshit. She doesn't want to know _everything_. She really doesn't. Like, he thinks about some seriously nasty shit that'd probably get him slapped if he ever told her. Actually, the one and only time he told her about one of his dirtier fantasies, she just blinked at him, rolled onto her side, and switched off the light. (Yeah, that was one of the only days they didn't actually have sex, except for the four days, and yes, he counted, where her lady business was _all her_.)

Point is, he's learned his lesson.

Don't tell Rachel _everything_.

"It's not even like that," he says, more about the first part than the second part.

"What's it like, then!?" she yells, throwing her hands in the air. "I've been thinking about it all day, actually, what it might be like. The only thing I could come up with is..."

"Shut up for a goddamn second," he says, standing from the bed. She doesn't even look at his bare chest. _She is pissed_. Telling her to shut up was not smart. He realizes this too late. "Okay, so...I didn't tell my mom about us. But I was going to, I swear."

"When, Noah? The next time she visits? Some random conversation? Oh, I know, how about when we're married? We'll call her the next day from the honeymoon and give her the heads up!"

He freezes for a second, because who the fuck _ever_ said _anything_ about marriage? Jesus Christ, he's still refusing to move his clothes into her bedroom, where they sleep every night.

(But then he thinks that it might not be so terrible, actually, someday, to be married to her.)

Not the point.

"You gotta just calm down, alright? So I can explain," he says seriously.

She crosses her arms (he can't help but check out her rack, because she's wearing this really low cut shirt and...goddamn, she's hot) and pops her hip. "Well, then _explain_."

"Okay, so...you know my mom's insane, right? Like, she's...she's fucking _way_ out there. Crazier than you, which is a fucking accomplishment, by the way," he says. She's got this look on her face that he cannot read. "So I was just...fuck! She's been on me since we were fucking...19. She wants me to like, marry you and have a gaggle of kids, and I just know that if I tell her about this, about us, then she'll fucking lose her shit."

Nothing. Stone Face Rachel freaks him the hell out.

"Let me get this straight," she says calmly. "You didn't tell your mother that we're together because it would have made her happy?"

(Wait. _Would have_?)

"It will. Unless you're dumping my ass right now, in which case...well, fuck. Not telling her is saving me a lecture about fucking things up with like, the Patron Saintess of fucking Jewish...Jews!"

She rolls her eyes and sighs. "You're an idiot. And not only because exactly _none_ of what you just said made any sense at all."

"I know I'm an idiot! Reminding me is awesome, though, so thanks for that," he says sarcastically.

"First of all, do you honestly think that your mother would act that way if she knew about us?" she asks. He just looks at her and tilts his head. Uh, _yes_? "Okay, so...who cares? I already know what your mother thinks about me. About us. I heard her talking to you when she came for your graduation."

"What?"

"You thought I was sleeping, but I heard her. She loves me." She looks smug and proud. He'd think it was hot if he wasn't so annoyed.

"And you never said anything!?" he shouts, throwing his hands in the air.

"What was I supposed to say!? We were just friends at the time. _'Hey, Noah, you know how your mom wants us to hook up? Let's give it a go'_?"

"Jesus, you _are_ insane," he says.

"And _second_ of all," she says, completely ignoring his comment, "it's going to take a hell of a lot more for me to break up with you, than you acting like a complete moron with regards to telling your family about us."

Well, that's something, he supposes. Not that he appreciates being called a moron. Or an idiot. Or those other names she's called him.

"I'm not ashamed of you, or us, or whatever else you said," he insists. She's still standing just inside the door. He doesn't love that.

"Well, regardless, I think you need some time to think about this, about us. You haven't told anyone other than your work friends about us."

"I told Finn!" he reminds her quickly.

She laughs humourlessly and shakes her head at him. "Saying '_she's mine now, bitch_,' is not the same thing as telling your mother you're in a serious relationship."

He smirks. That was an awesome conversation, actually. It felt fucking great to call Finn and be able to say that shit. Fucking _finally_.

"Whatever," he mumbles. "And like you've told anyone either, except your crazy friends who don't care."

"_Who_ would I tell?" she asks angrily.

He shrugs and crosses his arms. "Your dads."

He is such an asshole. He knows it right away, mostly because these two big tears roll down her cheeks and she starts breathing all heavy like she does when she cries.

"You're an asshole," she almost whispers, her eyes locked with his. He's a little freaked out, thinking she can read his mind or something. "I can't believe you just said that."

She walks out of his den/office and he just stands there until he hears her door slam.

She'd really, really love to say that any of this is truly surprising. She'd love to say it's completely unexpected of him to (still) be freaking out about this relationship. She's not, though.

Does she wish he'd told his mom? Absolutely. She doesn't know why she's so upset, honestly. She doesn't know why she didn't just tell his mother the truth when she had her on the phone, then wait to hear Noah losing his mind over his mother knowing. Come to think of it, that would have been much more fun than a right and sleeping alone on her bed for the first time (except when he's worked nights, that is).

She knows he's not ashamed of her or their relationship. Hell, he practically paraded her around like a trophy at a barbecue at Jay's place. She eventually had to pull him aside and tell him she was okay on her own if he wanted to talk to the guys without her. ("Fuck that," he'd said. "Gotta remind these assholes just whose girl you are.") She can't say she hates the fact that he's obviously so happy they're together. Who would?

His logic for not telling his mother is backwards, completely unreasonable, but she knows how his mind works, so she's sure he's not just making it up to give her an excuse. He actually was afraid of his mother's reaction. Aviva does tend to get a little...excited...by the prospect of her son finding a 'good woman'.

The real reason Rachel is so upset is because she honestly thought she was the one he'd break that 'non disclosure' rule with his mother for. She should not have yelled at him like that. She should have just let it go and let him tell his mother on his own terms. Which, granted, she's doing, because she didn't say anything to his mother about their relationship.

And then he had to go and bring up her dads. That just made her more upset. He knows how she feels about them, how she can't talk about them, and he has to go and mention them in a conversation (fight) like that and make her feel absolutely horrible.

At 2:00 am, she decides that her room is far too cold and lonely without him in it. This is a fact she's known from those nights where he worked and she tossed and turned and worried.

She pads across the apartment and sees that his door is open, almost like he's been waiting for her or something, but he's fast asleep. There's worry on his face, even though his eyes are closed, and she thinks he looks adorable like that, concerned or whatever.

She slips into bed with him and he pulls her close on instinct alone. She thinks he's still asleep, but then he leaves a trail of kisses along her neck. "Sorry," he mumbles, and if it doesn't sound like he means it, it's just because he's half asleep.

"I know."

"I'll call her."

"Okay," she whispers. "Go back to sleep." He shifts against her, and she feels something very familiar (even that thought makes her blush) against her back. "Noah," she says, giggling softly. "You're barely even awake."

"Doe'n't matter. Wake me up."

She turns in his arms and pushes him onto his back. She kisses him to cover the stupid grin he's wearing.

----

She wakes up in the morning to see him sitting on the side of the bed, one hand resting on her hip and the other holding his phone.

"No, mom, I know I should have told you sooner. It's just that you're...totally effing crazy, that's all," he says, and Rachel lets out this cute little noise as she stretches, moving to lay flat on her back so his hand moves to her stomach. He looks over and winks. "She's just waking up. You wanna talk to her?" He pulls the phone away from his ear and even Rachel hears the squeal. He turns to her and she's laughing softly, a sleepy smile on her face. "She wants to talk to you," he stage whispers.

She takes the phone and spends the next 20 minutes walking through the apartment wearing only Puck's tee shirt, talking to his mom about god knows what. It doesn't even really freak him out that they (more his mom than Rachel) could be planning the entire next 20 years of his life.

Fuck.

Well, at least he had a good month of only _one_ particular brand of crazy.

----

He moves some of his stuff into her room.

He still doesn't call it 'their' room. She rolls her eyes, but doesn't seem to care too much.

His guitar is one of the first things, but whatever, it's totally legit. He was serenading her (seriously, a little Help Me Make It Through The Night and she was naked in seconds) and ended up just setting it in the corner and it stayed there. Not a big deal.

But then he starts dropping his stuff onto her dresser, his badge, his gun (and yeah, that totally freaks her out, but he knows she thinks it's hot too), his wallet, keys, phone, whatever. They're all there next to the pictures she has of the two of them and some of their friends.

And then some of his shirts find their way into her room, but only because she keeps stealing them, and he doesn't really mind because they look so good on her anyway.

When he starts throwing his dirty clothes in her hamper when he takes them off (what? they're getting ready for bed and the hamper is _right there_...) Rachel laughs at him.

"What?" he asks, standing there in his boxers, hands on hips. And yeah, she looks him up and down. Of course she does.

"Nothing," she says, sitting back against her headboard as she rubs lotion on her hands. "Just, don't you think it might make sense if we finally rearranged our living situation, here?"

"Why?"

He gets into bed and kisses her cheek for no reason at all, then pulls her close to him, despite her wiggling to try to get him to stop. He loves it when she giggles this way, too.

Shut up. She's adorable, okay? Whatever.

"Because you sleep in here every night anyway, and you're always having to cross the apartment to get clothes. It just makes more sense if you move your things on a permanent basis, Noah."

"This room isn't big enough for both our shit. Unless you wanna use the den/office as like, a holding place for all the useless garbage you have in here," he says seriously.

She turns so she's facing him and pulls away a little bit. "Nothing in this room is useless!"

"Baby," he says, tilting his head at her. "You have a desk. Why the fuck do you have a _desk_?"

"It's not a _desk_, Noah, it's a _vanity_, and I use it every day."

"You have a thousand fucking pairs of shoes, and they're spilling out of your closet."

"Not a _thousand_, and you can't crowd them!" she argues. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"Whatever. There's no way all my stuff is gonna fit in here with all of yours," he says, and they both look around her room.

Then her face lights up and she jumps up out of bed. He can't even take a second to enjoy the fact that she's wearing just one of his tee shirts and a pair of underwear. She runs out of the room and he's left confused as hell, wondering what the fuck she's up to.

She comes back in with the classifieds section of the Times.

"Rachel."

"We're moving!" she says, all happy and proud. He just blinks at her, brow furrowed.

"Are we making this decision together, or have you decided?" he asks. She's sitting there, legs tucked beneath the covers as she folds her legs together.

"I've decided." She smiles down at him, then leans over and kisses his forehead, a gesture she knows he hates.

(No, he doesn't, it's just not very badass at all. He does it to her all the time, but that's different. It's _different_.)

"What if I don't want to move?" he asks, pushing himself up in bed so he's leaning on his elbows.

"Then I'll convince you with my brilliant logic," she says, a grin on her lips. "Or with sexual favours. Either way, we're moving."

He laughs at her and shakes his head. "So the more I resist, the more sex I get?" He slips his hand beneath her shirt at her back and leaves a trail of kisses from her elbow, up towards her shoulder.

"You really shouldn't make it sound like I deprive you," she insists. He laughs again and lays back against the pillows, but his hand stays on her back, fingertips trailing the skin just above her underwear.

"But we've lived here for so long."

"And we've grown out of it. We can afford something nicer, in Manhattan. And we can get a large one bedroom, with plenty of room for my shoes," she says teasingly. She looks down at him and it honestly looks like he's thinking about it, like he's not convinced. "Do you really not want to? Because you should just tell me."

"No. I mean, yeah, whatever. We can move," he says, shrugging his shoulder. Moving just sucks. Moving from Brooklyn to Manhattan is going to take a lot of coordination and probably a whole weekend or something. Fuck.

"Are you sure? Because I don't want to pressure you. And you can say no and I won't mind. We'll just organize furniture and try to fit everything. Or we can leave things as they are. Or...I don't know. We'll compromise. We can compromise!"

"Baby, calm the hell down," he says laughingly, and she lets out a sigh. "It's fine. Maybe it's a good idea."

"Maybe? You need to be _sure_," she says seriously, eyes all pleading.

He smirks at her (this is going to be _awesome_) and says, "I just wanna be wherever you are."

The paper falls to the floor when she lays back down and pulls him on top of her.

So yeah, he agrees to move and she lets him get her naked.

Win, win.

----

Finding a place takes for fucking _ever_.

To be honest, Puck doesn't really care. Whether he has to take one bus or two to get to work, not a big deal. Rachel draws a fucking map of the places they look at, with charts and graphs and pro and con lists, and practically counts the blocks between the theater and his precinct for each apartment.

He just wants a place to put his shit and sleep in. Which he already has, but he wisely does not say those words to her.

And then there are the actual viewings. Which is fine. She goes to a few alone, since her schedule gives her a little more time in the mornings, and they don't have a lot of time to do this shit together. (And honestly, Puck can think of, oh, _a million_, things that he'd rather do alone with her.)

But if the living room isn't too dark, then the kitchen is too small. If the closet is big enough, there's a draft from the windows. If the balcony is south facing, the bathroom isn't sufficient.

"Rachel," he says, pulling her aside, his hand grasping her elbow. "You're driving me fucking nuts, woman."

The landlord, a guy about 30 wearing business casual clothes, laughs. Rachel glares at the both of them at once, somehow. She's talented like that.

"I'm sorry, but I refuse to move into an apartment that doesn't have adequate amenities. You've seen the list, Noah. You know what we're looking for."

"What _you're_ looking for," he corrects her. She scowls a little more. "Rach, this place is great. South facing! Lots of cupboards! A big bathtub! What else do you want?"

"Secured entry," she says seriously. "How about the extra space we talked about, where we have our music area. And storage! There's hardly any here."

He sighs, runs his hand over the back of his neck, and curses himself (in his head).

The problem with being so crazy about the crazy girl, is that he'll do anything to make her happy.

Which makes him a total fucking sucker, by the way. But then he watches the sway of her hips and the line of her legs as she walks towards the landlord and thanks him for his time, and he doesn't really care anymore.

The next place they see, she actually likes.

He pulls her out of the apartment before she can get an application.

"Noah!" she cries, wrenching her arm from his hold as soon as they're in the elevator. "What has gotten into you?"

"That landlord was totally eye fucking you. Not cool. No way am I living in a place where a creepy fucking pervert has keys to our apartment and...Fuck. _No_," he says harshly. She actually smiles.

Then backs him up against the wall of the elevator.

"You worry about me," she states, all coy, like she thinks it's the sweetest thing in the world.

Honestly, they've been dating for almost three months (which is just about the longest relationship he's ever had, and yeah, he's freaking out a little), and they've been living together for years, and this fact is surprising her?

"Yeah, I do." She takes his face in her hands and kisses him far more passionately than she should, given where they are. But he'll take it. "And I have a gun, so all these douchebags better back the fuck off."

She giggles and swats his chest, and he just pulls her against him as they wait to get to the ground floor.

----

They're standing in their new apartment, boxes and furniture and people all around. She's wearing this really adorable (no, _sexy_) moving outfit. She's got on jeans, rolled up to mid-calf, a pair of Chucks on her feet, and a plain white tee shirt with a Yankees cap on backwards and her hair in braided pigtails.

And yeah, they finally found a place. It's the one (one and _only_) place they actually agreed upon, and it's in Murray Hill. As much as he started to kind of, okay _totally_, not care at all about where they lived (no seriously, he was ready to tell her fuck the move, he wasn't going anywhere) he really, really loves their new place. It feels way bigger than their place in Brooklyn, though the square footage isn't much more. The floorplan is just way better, open concept, and the master bedroom (which, yeah, is now called 'their bedroom') is big, with a huge enough closet for both their stuff.

"Well, if I'd known moving would get half the NYPD into my living room, I would have done it sooner," Rachel says as she hands out beer, as promised to the guys as payment for their help.

"Girl, all you had to do was ask," Erik says with a smirk.

"Easy," Puck warns. He's totally not joking. Rachel laughs and hands him a beer, and he twists the cap off hers before she even has to ask.

See that shit? He's an awesome boyfriend.

Rachel has to admit, Noah's friends and fellow officers are wonderful. Three of them have vehicles, two of them trucks, and offered to help with the move. Two more showed up to lift heavy items and boxes, and Jay's wife sent muffins and sandwiches since Rachel certainly couldn't cook in either kitchen while the move was happening. Scott's girlfriend, Andrea, came to help Rachel clean the old apartment as the guys moved things and made trips into Manhattan and the new place.

So springing for a case of beer and some pizza for dinner is really no trouble to her at all.

That said, she'd really love to just be done with all this. And as grateful as she is to these men and this woman who gave up their entire Saturday to help, she just wants to be alone with Noah in their new apartment so they can get their bearings. But she's a fantastic hostess, and she's not going to kick anyone out of her place.

Noah does that for her after they've all finished eating.

And he's not subtle about it either.

"Alright, fuckers. Get the hell out of my house," he says, holding the door open and motioning with his arm for his friends to use it.

Rachel hands out thank yous and kisses to the cheek, and Puck leans back against the door after it's closed and the lock is turned.

"You look tired," she says, taking off her cap and tossing it on top of a stack of boxes. she pulls the elastics from the ends of her hair, tugging her fingers through her braids. It leaves her hair in really sexy waves that, if he had any energy at all, would force him to take her up against the closest flat surface.

"Exhausted," he insists, wrapping his arms around her. He knows he stinks. Seriously. He's made three trips back and forth from Brooklyn to Manhattan, carrying boxes and furniture, and all he wants is to just fall into bed and sleep for eight years.

They manage to get sheets on their bed, and he takes a shower while she changes into pajamas and tries to make the bedroom as comfortable as possible, given that it's a complete disaster.

Then it hits her.

They are living _together_.

And yes, this is ridiculous, because they've lived together for years, but it's different now. They don't each have their own space. All this space is theirs. It's not like before, when they were just dating and sleeping in the same bedroom.

This is _their_ bedroom. _Their_ apartment. They're together, in every sense of the word. It's _exciting_.

And terrifying.

He walks out of the ensuite bathroom in nothing but a towel, running his hand over his head as he yawns. She's totally eyeing him.

"Don't," he says, laughing softly. She smiles and lays back in the bed, watching him as he drapes the towel over a box and climbs into bed. She cannot help the way her eyes drift down his body. He's standing naked in front of her and, hello, he's perfect. "Don't start with me, baby."

When she doesn't even scold him for leaving his towel there, he knows she's as tired as he is.

"It's 8:30," she says, checking the time on her phone. "8:30, and we're already in bed."

He drapes his arm over her and pulls her towards him a little more. His eyes are already closed. "Hmm."

"Noah?"

"Yeah?"

"You like this apartment, right?" (_You love me, right?_)

He laughs a little and kisses her shoulder, just because it's closest to his lips. "Yeah, I do." (_Of course_.)

They haven't actually said the words. She's dying to.


	14. Chapter 14

It's the first day she doesn't have to wear a jacket (Noah has stubbornly been walking around in just his tee shirt for two weeks) and he's walking her to the theater because he doesn't work for a few hours, and she says it's nice, sometimes, to just walk through New York. Being a cop has jaded him a little bit, but she can always make him see the beauty in tourists in Times Square or private school kids holding onto a string or even the taillights and honking horns.

(Not really. He thinks it's all annoying bullshit, but she gets so excited that he doesn't have the heart to disagree with her statements. And he loves New York. Really. It just drives him insane sometimes.)

A stranger stops them to ask if they'd mind taking a photo, and Puck rolls his eyes, but Rachel smiles brightly. Then, as Rachel's holding the camera, Puck looks around and notices a smattering of posters on a wall, Rachel's face as Maria plastered over them. He nudges her side with his elbow and she scolds him before following his gaze.

It's not like it's the first time. They see her everywhere. She gets recognized now, and they've gone to industry parties and worn fancy clothes and he listened to her squeal over meeting Taye Diggs one night at a party. (Yeah, he knows. He was there, too. She still told him the entire story, start to finish. Twice.)

Naturally, the tourist and her blue haired friends freak out and start gushing over Rachel, and Puck tries really hard not to scoff and tell them to calm their shit, but then they say he's handsome, so he doesn't want to be a jerk. And when Rachel mentions that he's NYPD, the women like, legitimately _swoon_ and tell him to be safe and actually thank him, even though they're from Nebraska or some shit.

Rachel slips her arm through his, though they don't really do this much. Usually when they're together in public, they don't hold hands or anything like this. Puck doesn't really mind it, per se. Sometimes a guy just likes his space, you know? But more often, a guy likes his girl pressed against him, letting the world know she's got a boyfriend. (_So back off._)

When they get to the theater, he reaches for her hips and pulls her close, because he's not going to see her again until after midnight, and they'll both be sleeping, so really, these are their last few moments together until morning.

And yeah, he cares.

She leans in and kisses him, her hand slipping into the back pocket of his jeans. He _loves_ it when she does that.

"Hey, Rach?" She pulls away and looks up at him, shaking her head quickly to get the hair out of her eyes. "I um..."

"You...?" she draws out quietly. Her heart is beating so hard she can't stand it.

This is it.

This is the moment.

And he's telling her on Broadway. How _sweet_!

"I love you," he whispers. It's soft and raspy and he hates how lame he sounds. He doesn't even know if she heard him; he figures if he said it once, he can say it again. "I love you."

She literally fucking beams at him, like the 16 year old she used to be, and kisses him so hard that he's backed into the wall next to the performers' entrance to the theater.

"I heard you the first time," she mumbles against his lips. He doesn't know whether to be pissed, or to laugh, because she's so adorable right now, but fuck, he's never said those words to a girl before, and it'd be nice if, you know, she_ said them back_. "I love you too, Noah."

He smiles and runs his hands over her hips. "Yeah?"

She slugs him on the chest.

"Yes, of course, you fool," she says, both of them laughing as he pulls her against him again. "I've loved you for...for so long."

"Good," he says against her hair. "Me too." She pulls away, kisses him again. "Took you long enough to admit it, though."

"I didn't want to push you," she admits quietly. He takes a breath. She's awesome like that. "I didn't want to pressure you into saying something that you weren't ready to say. It was easier this way."

"Okay."

"And besides," she says, giving him this cheeky little grin, "now I can tell everyone that you said it first."

He knows she means it as a threat or something. To be honest? He doesn't fucking care. She's his girl, after so much time just being _a_ girl, and if everyone knows how cool with that he is, then so be it. Fuck everyone else.

She says goodbye, that she really has to get inside, and he kisses her real good, just to give her something to think about when they're both at work.

----

"No, no, no," Rachel says from her place beneath him, holding him close as his phone rings. "Leave it."

"I can't, baby," he says, trying desperately not to grit his teeth. Fucking phone. They both know he has to answer in case it's work. Which it is this time. Fuck! "Puckerman." Rachel shifts against him, and the only (and he means _only_) saving grace right now is that they're both wearing clothes. (Well, _some_ clothes.) "Are you serious?...Please tell me you're fucking firing that guy...This is the third time!...No, no. I'll be in. Give me 20."

He hangs up the phone and Rachel is just looking up at him as he throws it back onto the bedside table. "You're going."

"Valetti called in again," he explains. He leans down and kisses her soundly, and she whines when he pulls away. "Sorry. You _know_ I don't wanna leave you."

"I know," she says. He gets up, and she watches him move around the room, grabbing his tee shirt and slipping his holster onto his belt again. "Please be careful?"

He furrows his brow at her. She's never really said that before, not those words. But then again, she's rarely ever home when he has to go in for the night shift, either. "I will," he says sincerely. She takes a deep breath and nods, and he looks up at her after buckling his belt. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He doesn't believe that blatant lie. "I just...I got this really bad feeling just now."

"That's only because you're all wet for me and I'm leaving."

She throws a pillow at his head. "Noah!" He smirks smugly and kneels next to her, running a hand up and down her arm. "I'm serious."

"Okay." He kisses her gently. "Get some sleep. Don't...don't fuckin'...handle any business that's all mine." He raises his brow as he says it, and she giggles and shakes her head at him. "I'm serious. I'm comin' home for you, Rach."

God, she thinks that sounds like just the best promise.

He winks and slips out the door, and she sighs, switching off the light and laying back in bed.

He comes home in the morning and wakes her up like she knew he would (he's already in just his boxers when he lays on top of her).

It's not until two days later that her bad feeling makes sense. Even then, it doesn't, because she doesn't know how she _knew_ something was going to happen. She tried to ignore it, and it worked, for the most part.

Until she's at home on her day off, basically waiting for him to get off work so they can have an evening together. He's already picked out the movie he wants to watch (though A Clockwork Orange, she thinks, isn't really a date night kind of film; the things she does for him...)

Her phone rings and she laughs when she sees the name on her caller ID.

"Hi, Jay."

"Rachel."

"Let me guess, you have to work late, and he's making you do his dirty work?" she asks, smiling still as she tidies up the coffee table.

"No, that's not...Look, Rachel, today...Shit, I hate this." He mumbles the last part, and it's then that she realizes how he sounds; exhausted, scared, totally not like himself.

"What?" she asks, freezing in her place. She swears her blood is running cold. "Jay, _what_?"

"There was an incident," he says, like she knows he's trained to.

"Just fucking tell me!" she shouts, tears in her eyes. She's lashing out, and she knows it's wrong, but her heart is at her feet, and she can't possibly wait any longer.

(And the curse is just a habit she's picked up from somewhere...)

"He's going to be okay. There was a shooting, Rachel," he says. She's thankful he at least gave the good news first. "He took one to the leg. He's in surgery right now."

"Where?" she asks, already grabbing her keys as she heads for the door.

"Lennox Hill. I'll come get you."

"No," she says before hanging up.

She has her hand on the doorknob when she feels the bile rising up within her, and she rushes to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet just in time to empty her stomach. She tries to tell herself he's fine, he'll be fine, but that doesn't seem to mean much. He's in a hospital, in surgery. He was _shot_. She splashes water on her face and rinses her mouth with Listerine, then runs out of the apartment and down the stairs, because she can't wait for the perpetually slow elevator.

She's thankful to have a cab driver who doesn't so much care about speed laws, because when she tells him to get her to Lennox Hill as soon as possible, he does that very thing. She throws a $50 at him, way more than the ride cost, and jumps out of the cab.

When she gets to the surgical wing where she's told Noah is, she sees Jay first, and he just locks eyes with her. Then she notices the blood, her boyfriend's blood, staining Jay's uniform, and she thinks she's going to be sick again.

A few other officers are there, Jonesy (whose first name she honestly doesn't know) and Stephen (who she absolutely refuses to call Boner), and another man she's never seen before.

"Rachel," Jay says, walking towards her. He goes to hug her, but the thought of his uniform, that blood, against her is too much, so she holds out her hands. "I'll be another couple hours, probably." She just nods, and it's then that she realizes she's crying; she probably has been since she hung up the phone. "Can I get you anything? You need...anything?"

"Water," she manages.

Jay comes back after a few minutes, and Jonesy asks Rachel if she wants to sit, or if she wants a stick of gum or something, and she refuses both. Gum? Really? Yes, _that'll_ make her feel better about the bullet in her boyfriend's leg. She paces the floor, and Puck's captain comes to check up on things, then Scott arrives, and all the nurses in the place are looking extra concerned, because this is _a police officer_, and the mood is somber.

Rachel _hates_ it.

These people don't know him like she does. She knows he'll be okay, physically. It's his leg, his calf, Jay told her. It'll heal in time. But being a member of the NYPD has become his identity. He loves his job and everything (most things) that come with it. He loves his partner and the things he has to do and the friends he's made.

What is he supposed to do while he heals? Take a desk job? He's going to hate that.

And she is _terrified_.

She's always been scared, worried about him, but now that this has happened, she's reluctant to ever let him out of her sight again.

She's pacing back and forth on the floor, biting her thumbnail as she waits for news. And she knows she's just getting more and more anxious as the minutes pass.

"Rachel, why don't you sit down?" Jay suggests.

"I don't want to sit down!" she snaps. She doesn't even apologize. She doesn't think she needs to, judging by the look on his face and the way he nods. "Did you...did you catch the guy who did this?"

"Does it matter?" Jay asks quietly, shrugging one shoulder.

"Yes, it matters! I want to know. And he'll want to know."

Jay lets out a sigh and Rachel's pretty sure that she's trying his patience. She does not care about that in the slightest.

"We lost him," he admits, and she thinks he sounds ashamed. "We didn't get him, but he's known to police, so he should be..."

"He's known to police?!" she asks loudly. Jonesy steps towards her, pushing her a little further into the waiting room so she doesn't make so much of a scene. "So Noah is laying in a hospital bed because you people can't do your job?"

"_Hey_," Jay says, face hardening. "Easy. I know you're upset, but can you just try to calm down for me, here?"

Normally, she wouldn't take someone speaking to her that way. Normally, Noah would be there to warn the guy not to use those words. But he's not, and her lashing out at everyone isn't going to help anything.

She runs her hands through her hair and walks towards Jay, and the blood, now dry, doesn't even bother her anymore. She wraps her arms around him, though he looked scared for a second that she was going to hit him.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't mean that. I'm just..."

"I know. He told me about that bad feeling you had," Jay admits, pulling away from her and leading her over so they can sit down.

"He looked at me like I was crazy," she says. She doesn't need to mention what they'd been doing before he'd gotten that call. "And I'm sure he told you that I am."

"Wasn't the first time," Jay says, smiling at her. Her eyes are welling with tears again. "Rachel."

"No, I know." She wipes her face and tries to smile. It is absolutely insane of her to think about how much she'd miss it if Noah didn't call her crazy at least a few times a week. "It's just really, really...I'm scared. And I've always been scared, but this just makes it all real, you know? How incredibly dangerous his job is."

"Yeah."

"But he loves it. And he's _good_ at it," she continues. Jay simply nods. "I mean, when he's not getting his stupid self _shot_ _at_."

Jay smiles a little bit and goes for levity. "Hey, he wasn't _trying_..."

He stops talking when a doctor wearing a surgical cap and mask walks into the waiting room. It seems that the non-disclosure rules don't apply when the patient is NYPD and there are no less than five officers waiting on news.

"He's fine," the doctor announces. "He's in recovery. We got the entire bullet, which I have waiting for your forensics team. He'll make a full recovery, after some physical therapy." Rachel thinks he repeats that last part just for her, because she's crying again, clutching Jay's sleeve. "Would you like to see him?"

She thinks all the guys in the room laugh when she shoots up out of her chair and heads towards the doctor. She's not in any frame of mind to scold them for teasing her.

Noah is sleeping soundly when she walks into the room, and she surprises herself by not running to his side. She had every intention. But then she just looks at him, laying there in a bed with monitors and wires hooked up to him, a pale blue hospital gown on that she knows he's going to complain about for as long as he's wearing it.

And she sees his leg, propped up on the bed with a bandage around it, and her hand goes to her mouth. She is being _such_ a baby about this, she knows. But in the last couple hours, she's gone over every possible scenario, every what it. She knows how lucky he is, let's just put it that way.

She pulls a chair up next to the bed and reaches for his hand, running her free hand over his cheek and jaw. He didn't shave that morning. She smiles. She likes him with a little scruff, so much so that she doesn't 'let' him shave on the days they both have off. He calls it her fetish. She rolls her eyes.

Jay, Jonesy, Stephen and Noah's captain come into the room to check on him, but he's still out, which the nurse says is normal, that he won't come off the anesthesia for a while. Rachel tells them all to just go home, and that she'll call when there's any change. They all hug her and kiss her cheek, tell her to call if she needs absolutely anything, and she cries again after they've left, because she realizes for the first time just how close these men are, what it means to be in this brotherhood. (Noah would scoff at her, but definitely agree.)

He wakes up when she's got tears in her eyes. Of course.

"Hey." His voice is raspy and dry, and he lets out a groan when he tries to move. Rachel looks at him and smiles, though more tears fall. "Babe..."

"Don't move. Don't try to move," she insists, sitting up straighter as she reaches for a cup of water. Then, before she can hand it to him, she changes her mind, takes his face in both hands, and kisses him. "Don't do this to me ever again," she pleads quietly.

"Rach." He tries to reach up to wipe her face, but she holds his hand down. "What?"

"Don't move," she repeats seriously.

"I'm fine."

"You were _shot_, Noah," she says, her throat tightening. "You just got out of surgery. You're not fine."

"I'll be good. Doesn't even hurt."

"That's because they've got you on morphine," she insists. She takes the cup from the bedside table and adjusts the straw. "Here. Drink."

He takes a sip because he's pretty sure that if he doesn't, she'll like, hit him or something. "'S'Jay here?"

"He went home a couple hours ago."

"You bitched him out." He smirks at her lazily and she rolls her eyes. "Knew it."

"Shut up. Get some rest, okay? I'm going to call your mother," she explains. She leans over and kisses him, and he brings his hand up to rest on her cheek.

To be honest, he was scared as hell and in the worst pain of his life until they put him out for surgery. And even as he was laying in the back of the ambulance, all he could think about (you know, other than the searing pain ripping through his body) was Rachel. He was worried about her, about how she was going to react. He knew she'd freak out. And probably rightly so.

"I love you," he says, because he figures that if there's ever a time to say it, it's now.

"I love you too," she whispers. "But I'm mad at you."

She pulls away from the bed and he laughs a little. Shit, this morphine stuff is good. "You're mad at me?"

"I told you to be careful."

"I am. I was," he insists, grabbing for her hand. She pulls it away. Fuck. She's really mad at him? "I'm sorry, baby." More tears fall down her cheeks. She hates herself for being such a baby. He's fine! He's alert and awake and _fine_. "Rachel, come here." He pulls her back towards the bed and she lays down next to him, his arms wrapped around her. "Stop worrying."

"I can't," she admits.

He doesn't know what to say to that, so he just kisses her forehead and holds her as closely as he can in this stupid bed with all this stupid shit hooked up to him.

"This fucking hospital gown..." She starts laughing before he even finishes.

It's the best sound he's heard all day.

----

Rachel takes three days off when Noah comes home from the hospital. He's on crutches, which makes doing anything with his hands pretty much fucking impossible, and he's on paid leave from work, you know, since he got shot and all. And no, he's not letting any of his buddies give him a hard time, even if they are joking.

He's already getting enough shit from his mom, thanks. (Seriously. What's with the women in his life thinking he was _trying_ to get hit with a fucking bullet?)

So yeah, Rachel's around, making sure he has everything he needs.

Frankly? She's driving him fucking insane.

Does he need two kinds of water and seven pillows? Or a three course lunch and...Okay, maybe that part isn't so bad. But Jesus. He doesn't need her to wait on him hand and foot.

"Rachel," he says when she tries to roll up the sleeves of his shirt for him. What the fuck is that about?

"Yes? What is it? Do you need more Tylenol? Are you..."

"Stop," he interrupts. "Stop doing...all this. I don't need a fucking nurse."

He can't tell whether she's going to cry or scream at him. It really fucking freaks him out that she does neither. She just puts her hand on her hip and stands in front of the television. (Seriously!? There's a game on!)

"No, you don't. But you need to take it easy, and all I'm trying to do is make sure that you're comfortable and taken care of. Forgive me for wanting to ensure that you heal properly!"

"Okay, fine. Whatever. But...Christ. Just get me a beer and bring me my meds, and I'm good to go. I don't need you to fluff my goddamn pillow, Rach," he argues.

"First of all, you know that you can't drink while taking your pain medication, so don't even try it," she says. She's literally pointing at him, like he's a child who needs to be reprimanded. "Second of all...screw you!"

Wait. _What_?

"Rachel, don't be so fucking dramatic, alright?" Well, that was the wrong thing to say. He watches as she grabs her wallet and keys, and stuffs her feet into her shoes. "Where're you going?"

"Out! Somewhere I don't have to deal with you! Frankly, Noah, you're being a _complete_ ass right now. I can't..."

He doesn't even know the last time she didn't finish a sentence. She slams the door behind her, and he's just sitting there, leg propped up on the table, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. He knows it's his fault, at least. (Shocking.)

And his water glass is empty. He's thirsty. He can't carry a glass to the kitchen while using crutches.

Well, fuck.

----

He calls her cell, but hears it ring in the bedroom.

Two hours later, she's still not home. It's not like her not to let him know where she's going. Hell, even when she's pissed at him, she yells that she's going to the coffee shop down the street or to her friend's place, or shopping or whatever. He honestly can't remember the last time she just left without telling him where she was off to, or at least when she'd be back.

This is not good.

What did people do before cell phones? Honestly, when dudes' girlfriends just walked out, how did they get ahold of them and tell them to come the fuck home before dark?

And now he's hungry. Of course, that's not the reason he wants her home. No. He wants to apologize for being an ungrateful bastard. Yeah, he figured that one out about 10 seconds after she left.

Four hours later, and his hand is shaking, stomach churning, worrying about her. He wonders if this is how she feels when he's working. Fucking _sucks_.

It's just after dark when he hears the key in the lock and cranes his neck to look at the door. She walks in - well, stumbles in - and kicks off her shoes, dropping her stuff on the hall table.

She's drunk. He can tell immediately. What the hell?

"Rachel..."

"You should apologize to me," she states, hand on her hip as she stands right in front of him.

"I'm so, so sorry," he says sincerely. "I'm sorry. I was a jackass. You're amazing."

"I know."

He smiles at her. He kinda loves her more when she gets all conceited and self-righteous like that. He reaches forward, but she's standing too far away for him to grab her. "'C'mere."

She takes a step towards him, but doesn't look all that impressed. "What?"

"What do you mean, _what_?" he asks with a laugh. "I'm apologizing." His thumb runs the inside of her wrist as she stands there, her knee brushing against his good leg. She lets out a little humming sound. "Where'd you go?"

"That pub around the corner that you love," she explains. "You know, lots of men find me attractive."

He clenches his teeth. "Don't tell me that shit."

She bends her leg, running her knee along his thigh as she does so, and he pulls her towards him more. "Four men offered to buy me drinks."

"Rachel," he growls.

"I bet they'd appreciate me." She's got this smile on her face, like she knows just how pissed this is making him. Fuck.

He tugs her arm a little harder than he probably should, and she takes the hint and straddles his lap. The pressure sends a sharp pain through his leg, but he doesn't fucking care. She's talking shit and he's not going to let her. He lowers his leg to the floor, knowing it'll feel better if he sets both feet on the ground.

"Don't fucking talk like that," he says seriously. Her hands are on his chest and she smells like gin. Fuck. He knows gin gets her totally hot. They don't call it liquid panty remover for nothing. "I appreciate you." She actually scoffs and turns her head. He cups her chin with his hand. "I do, Rachel. You're so good to me. I don't deserve it."

"No, you don't," she says. When he looks at her, she's smiling. She doesn't really believe it. "But you're forgiven." She leans forward to kiss him, and he immediately grabs her waist, pulling her closer to him. Her hips grind against his. "You can't. We can't."

Yeah, he hasn't yet been able to convince her that as long as she's on top, he's good to go. Seriously. What's wrong with that?

"I can't," he murmurs into her ear. "You can."

He is so glad she wore a skirt today. It hardly ever happens anymore. What a happy coincidence.

"Noah, I..." He slips his hand beneath her skirt, fingers brushing the front of her panties. "_Oh_," she says, and god, he loves making her do that, lose her words. "You don't...it's okay."

"Shut up, Rachel," he says before he kisses her. "You refuse to let me fuck you, so make-up sex is out of the question." He runs one finger just along the elastic of her underwear. She breathes out his name. "Let me do this."

"Okay," she says quickly, angling her hips. "Okay. Do it."

He smirks at her, her eyes closed as she bites her lip and holds onto his shoulders. She's so fucking gorgeous that it almost surprises him sometimes. I mean, come on. There was never any doubt that whatever girl he ended up with would be hot as fuck. Seriously. Have you _seen_ him? But this? This woman? He thinks she's perfect. Even when she yells at him and pisses him off by talking nonsense about other dudes being into her. And yeah, he knows she totally did that shit just to get him going.

He presses his fingertips against her and feels the moisture seeping through the cotton separating them. Her breathing becomes a little more rapid, and she kisses the side of his mouth as he teases her through her underwear. He feels like it's been forever since he saw this look on her face.

You know, if forever is five days. But seriously, it's the longest they've gone without sex since they got together. And if he can't get off, then he's sure as hell going to get her off.

"Noah, please," she whispers, rolling her hips.

"What do you want, baby?"

"Touch me." She's begging him, pushing herself closer. Her face is flushed and she's breathing all heavy.

She's still wearing all her clothes. Totally not right.

"Get up," he says gruffly. Her eyes fly open and she looks legitimately _sad_. "Just do it, baby. Please." She stands up, directly in front of him, and he looks her up and down. So beautiful. "Take off your underwear." She looks apprehensive, checking over her shoulder to make sure the curtains are drawn. "Rachel."

She does as she's told, her hands disappearing under her skirt so she can pull the thin cotton down her legs. She then runs her hands through her hair and tips her head back, and he swears she's trying to kill him. As much as this is about her, he's starting to realize just how much it sucks that he's not going to be getting off today. Well, not with her help. He's a grown man, but he's almost certain that this woman, _his_ woman, is enough to make him come without her even touching him.

He tells her so, and she smirks and bites her bottom lip.

"Get over here," he demands. She giggles and straddles his lap again. "You know how fucking beautiful you are, Rach?" His hands slide up her thighs and disappear beneath her skirt. "This...this skirt reminds me of when we were 16."

"Shut up," she laughs. He's still not touching her enough. She thinks she's going to die if he doesn't.

"You remember?" he asks, leaning forward to speak against her lips as he unbuttons her top. "When we were together? My hand under your skirt, on your ass when we were making out."

"Noah." She gasps when he runs his middle finger between her legs.

"Fuck, baby. So fucking wet." She kisses him hard, pushing her hips forward, but he doesn't give her any more than he has been. "Do you remember that? Straddling me? Rubbing yourself against my cock?"

She knows he's not going to give her what she wants until she answers. "Yes," she answers quickly, practically panting. "Yes. I remember."

"Yeah? You remember telling me you'd never gotten off?" He nips at her earlobe as he runs two fingers over her most sensitive spot. She presses herself down against his hand.

"Noah, shut up," she pleads. "Just...stop talking. Please. I can't...just..._please_."

"I wish you hadn't broken up with me," he says as he kisses along her jaw. "I really wanted to be the first person to touch you here." He swirls his finger around her opening, and she whimpers. She's begging him for it. God, he wants to fuck her. _Stupid fucking leg!_ He hooks his finger inside her gently, watching as she bites her lip. "You okay, baby?"

She can hear him smirking. Bastard. "More," she says evenly. "I need more. Now." He obliges, slipping a second finger inside her, loving the sound that tears from the back of her throat. "Fuck. You're...you're..."

"What?" he asks, smirking as he works his hand, bringing her to the edge. God, he loves it when she curses.

"Amazing," she breathes out. "So good."

"No one else does this to you, Rachel," he says softly, his lips right next to her ear. "Those other guys...they'd never make you feel like I do." She lets out a hum when he kisses just below her ear, where he always seems to kiss her. (It's that spot, the spot he first marked her.) "Right, baby? You only want me."

"Yes, Noah. God, yes. Just you."

He smirks in satisfaction. Perfect answer.

She arches her back and he gets the message, stroking his thumb against her nerves, and he can literally feel her tension building. He knows her and her body so well by now. He knows that if he slows down, she'll moan and whine and ride his hand. He knows that if he quickens the pace, she'll be falling apart in seconds. He knows that, right now, this second, if he pulled his hand away completely and told her to fuck him, she'd probably do it. But he's not going to, because that feels really selfish, given that this is their 'make-up' and he doesn't want to make it seem like it's about him. (No matter how hard he is and how much that's going to _suck_.)

"Rachel, come for me." He trails wet kisses along her neck, free hand cupping her breast.

"Almost. So close." He hooks his fingers forward, and she cries out. "Again."

See, this is what he loves about her. She's not afraid to tell him what to do, what she wants.

And he has absolutely _no_ problem giving her what she wants.

He repeats the action twice, then she's calling his name, back arched, and he's watching her fall apart before his eyes. She's fucking _gorgeous_ when she comes. Her face is all pink, and her lips part, and _fuck_, he needs to get laid.

"Oh my god," she breathes out, sagging against him. She whimpers when he removes his hand from beneath her skirt. "That was..." She punctuates that sentence with a sexy moan.

She kisses him, and his hands slip into her open shirt to rest on her back. She doesn't seem to care about the wetness his fingers leave on her skin. As if she has anything to be shy about anyway.

But then she reaches down and cups him through his sweat pants. Jesus fuck. "Rachel."

"Shut up." She climbs off him and moves so she's sitting next to him, somehow never taking her hand off him.

He thinks he's going to lose his mind when she gets onto her knees, leans over, and pulls him out of his pants. The last thing he sees before his head falls back is her mouth clamping around his tip.

He'll later complain that she'll go down on him, but she won't ride him.

And she'll climb on top of him in their bed, just to shut him up. (As if he cares what makes her do it.)

Their sexless streak ends at five days.


	15. Chapter 15

When Puck can actually go back to work, it's to a fucking desk job, which is total bullshit. Seriously. He has to sit around and take phone calls, talk to people on tip lines and hear Jay and the guys talking about being in the field doing all the awesome work. It fucking blows.

But what it means is that he's in the precinct all the time, and one of the homicide detectives takes him under his wing, Puck guesses. He gets to watch interrogations and Colletti talks about criminalistics and forensics and ballistics, and Puck thinks it's pretty cool, how all those departments work together to solve these cases.

He turns a couple heads when he pipes up one day, offering his two cents on a possible suspect in a hit and run. He ends up being right. He's worried, for a bit, that some of the other detectives will think he's some kind of smartass kid, butting in without being asked, but he just receives pats on the back for his help.

Then Colletti says he'd make a good detective one day. Puck knows that you have to be a patrol officer for at least three years before even being considered for a detective position, but it's something to think about anyway.

He heads home, using his fucking cane (seriously, it's so lame; he wears his badge on his belt so people don't ask him any fucking questions, or pity him or whatever).

So when he gets home, he's pretty damn excited to share this new career idea with his girl. He pushes open the door and nudges his shoes off with his cane. (Okay, so the thing isn't _all_ bad.)

Then he realizes that there's music playing in the bedroom. And not the good kind. It's this sad, slow stuff. Patty Griffin. It's the kind of stuff she listens to when she's PMS-ing. it's like a red flag that he should leave her alone. Only he knows she's not PMS-ing right now (what? He pays attention to that shit.)

"Rach?" he says quietly, pushing open the door with his cane. She's laying on her side, covers pulled up over her and tears on her cheeks. "Rachel, what's wrong?"

"It's _over_," she says dramatically. He sits down on the bed, wincing as he maneuvers his leg, which still hurts like a bitch sometimes, since he's not really done with his rehab.

"What is?"

"West Side Story," she says, more tears coming down her face. Jesus Christ. She's bawling over a freaking role. But then, he thinks, it's her job. Her livelihood or whatever. "The run is ending, and I...You _know_ how much I love playing Maria!"

He almost wants to laugh, but he knows what a bad idea that would be. "I know," he says quietly, brushing her hair back from her face. "But you've done it for so long."

"It doesn't matter. I'm _so_ upset. I could _die_."

Okay, now he does laugh. She's not dramatic at all, is she?

"Baby, it'll be okay," he says sweetly. She buries her face in the pillow. "There are other roles. Like...like Fanny...or...or Elphaba. Belle? I dunno...who else? Hey, what about one of those lesbians from Rent?"

She lifts her face a little bit, and there's a little bit of a smile on her lips. She sniffles and he wipes her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You're sexy when you talk theater to me."

He laughs softly. "Don't get fucking used to it." His hand runs down her arm a couple times, and she finally looks like she might stop crying. "You're amazing, Rach. And you'll get another part soon. You're gonna run this town."

"Did you just quote Jay-Z?" she laughs, rolling onto her back. Much better, he thinks. Smiling girl, always a winner.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she admits, reaching for his hand. "Can we just lay here for a while? Then maybe Chinese?"

He just smiles as he lays down next to her, pulling her into his arms as the listen to Patty singing about kites. Rachel hums quietly every once in a while. Sometimes he forgets what it's like to hear her just singing for fun. She sounds beautiful. She kisses him when he tells her.

----

So, there are perks to having an out of work girlfriend. Like, your apartment is always spotless, and there's usually food of some kind waiting for you when you get home from work. Sometimes there's a sleeping girl in your bed if you work late. Sometimes she's awake, sipping herbal tea and watching some crappy show, waiting for you. Sometimes she's wearing very little clothing, sipping wine, waiting for you.

Yeah. Not bad at all.

But then there's the crazy, too. Like if you forget to use a coaster for like, two minutes, you'll get the silent treatment. (Honest to god.) And it's not even the good kind that lets you watch the game in peace. The brutal kind that lasts until you think of a freaking genius plan to get her to accept your apology. (When you look like Puck does, and know your girl as well as Puck does, that's not so hard. But _still_.) Then there's the obsession with learning to cook. (Fucking Julie and Julia is to thank for that one, he's pretty sure.) And yeah, he enjoys the fact that she's trying new things and he gets to eat really well. But if she messes up, she freaks out. Like, a_ full on_, Rachel Berry, diva_ freak out_. There are tears. It's not good.

After a month, Puck wants her to get another fucking role already.

It's amazing to have her home, it really is. They see more of one another, and he's so happy about that, that they have a somewhat normal schedule now. But he knows they've drive each other nuts (well, she'll drive him nuts) if she doesn't find something to do with herself. Of course, he cannot possibly say any of this to her, for fear of getting kicked out of the house and dumped or something. Alright, so he knows that wouldn't happen, but still. He's not _stupid_.

He's back on patrol, since his leg has healed completely and all he has is a fucking badass scar on his calf to show for it. And he swears that if he didn't get to beat down bad guys all day, he'd be going nuts. More nuts.

He wakes up one afternoon, since he worked until 2:00 am, and the apartment is completely quiet. Which is unheard of. Have you _met_ Rachel Berry? She's a lot of things. Quiet isn't one of them.

He walks into the living room and looks around. (He remembered to put on pants this time; last time he walked around naked after waking up, she definitely freaked out. But damn. What's the point of having your own apartment if you can't walk around in the buff? C'mon. And no, she didn't appreciate him suggesting she join him. Weird.)

He finds a note on the dining room table that says she's gone out, but she'll be back in time to start on dinner. Well, screw that. He's actually home to do something for her, so he's going to take care of feeding her for once. As nice as it is to be waited on hand and foot, he kind of feels like a jerk for letting her. So he quickly showers, dresses in jeans and a tee shirt, grabs his sunglasses, and heads down the street to pick up ingredients for a kick ass dinner for his girl. He used to cook all the time. He's gonna show her what she's been missing.

He is _so_ getting lucky tonight.

----

Rachel is practically _skipping_ down the street. She can't _help_ herself. She's the luckiest woman in the entire _world_.

She's got a wonderful man sleeping in her bed - in _their_ bed - who she gets to go home to.

She's got big news to share.

She's got a recipe she's dying to try.

Her day could not get any better.

She does not expect to see that wonderful man standing on the sidewalk, bags in one hand and flowers in the other. She sees a bottle of wine in one of the bags, fresh bread in another.

And he's just staring at her like she's just kicked his dog or something.

"Noah?"

"What the...you said you'd...dammit!"

"What?" she asks with a laugh, leaning up to kiss him quickly. He doesn't seem to mind that.

"You're supposed to be out. I was going to make you an awesome dinner. And...I got candles. And chocolate. And massage oil." He laughs when she peers around them to make sure no one heard. He hands her the bouquet of of lilies. "These are for you."

"Thank you," she says softly, nose buried in the flowers. "So why are you making me this romantic dinner?"

She smiles when he scowls. She knows how much he hates the 'R' word.

"Can't a guy just do something nice for his woman? Jesus." She slips her arm through his as they start towards their apartment. "Where the hell have you been, anyway? I was totally hoping for some wake up sex."

"Noah!" she hisses, pushing at him a little bit. He thinks it's hilarious when she does that, because she can't ever move him more than an inch or so. "We're in public!"

He smirks and leans over to kiss her temple. "So? We're hot. Give the little people a visual to go home with."

"_You_ are _disgusting_."

She realizes, after another five minutes, that she hasn't even told him her news. There's something sweet about telling him on a busy New York street, but if she knows him (and _please_, she knows him) he'll end up dropping all the stuff in his hands so he can hold onto her instead. And she rally wants this romantic dinner.

She waits until they're inside and he's doing whatever he's doing in the kitchen. She changes out of her dress and into...another dress. The first one was meeting-appropriate. She's actually surprised Noah didn't say something about it, but then she supposes that her whole _'I'm going to dress as I always dress, so you don't find me on the couch one day in shorts and a tank top with Cheeto dust on my skin'_ thing probably kept him from commenting.

But the dress she changes into is one she knows he loves. It's summery, light yellow and flowing, with a halter neckline and a low back. It stops just above the knee, and her legs look tan from days spent walking the city, running errands or hanging out at her friend's rooftop pool.

He lets out a low whistle when she walks back into the kitchen. "Well, my day just got better," he says, checking her out unabashedly. "Fuck, I love this dress."

"I know." She hops up to kiss him, and when she tries to pull away, he wraps an arm around her waist to pull her close to him.

"We can skip dinner."

"No," she laughs. His face falls. "Now that you've promised me, you have to follow through. And actually, I have some news to share."

He turns back to the cutting board, drapes a towel over his shoulder. "What's that?"

"I had a meeting today with a director."

"Really?" he asks, turning to face her again. "And?"

"And, The Notebook just got funding. It's opening on Broadway in September," she explains. His eyes practically light up. She can't help but smile at that. "They want me to reprise my role. You know, since I _was_ the original Allie."

"Are you serious?" he asks, stepping towards her. He's always telling her how that's his favourite show she's been in. (Shut up. She was awesome in it.) She nods and bites her lip. He wastes no time sweeping her into his arms. "Rachel, that's awesome!"

"Thanks."

"Seriously?" he says, laughing as he pulls away. "What the...You're not this humble. Not with me. You should be freaking out!"

"I'm in shock," she admits. He realizes that she's kind of always been this way when it comes to getting new parts. "I just...this is my chance, Noah. I get to _create_ this role. No one else has ever played it. I'm...when they talk about this show, they'll talk about me."

"That's because you're a fucking _star_, baby," he whispers in her ear, wrapping her full into his arms again. She shivers. This is like, her idea of dirty talk. He smirks smugly. "You're amazing. You've got everything you worked for."

"And you," she says quietly. "And I have you."

He can't help the way he backs her against the counter. She says shit like that and he can't be held accountable for his actions. Who could? She's this amazing girl, and she's reminding him that she's all his? He's going to remind her of just the same.

She doesn't stop him when he lifts her up onto the counter and stands between her legs, his hands sliding up her thighs beneath her dress. She opens her mouth, letting him kiss her the way he wants to, and she arches her back, pressing herself against him even more. He manages to get the knot at the back of her dress undone before she stops him.

Damn. So close.

"Noah, wait," she giggles. His lips glide across her collarbone, tugging at the strap of her dress with his teeth. She brings a hand up to hold it in place. "As..._sexy_ as it is that you're undressing me with your teeth..." She's interrupted when he groans, pressing his forehead against her shoulder. "You have a dinner to cook."

"You're so fucking mean to me. Dressing like this. Kissing me like that." She rolls her eyes and grabs the bottle of wine. "Then forcing me to make..."

"You offered! In fact, if I remember correctly, you were disappointed that it wouldn't be a surprise." She tilts her head and reaches back to tie her dress again. "So don't make it sound like I'm some kind of...of...tease!"

He smirks as he watches her fumble with the bottle; there's a reason he always opens. (He worked in an Italian restaurant. He's opened a few bottles of wine.) She's all flustered, probably because he totally just about made her forget about everything else altogether. Her cheeks are pink, and her hands look like they're shaking. He grabs the bottle from her.

"Relax," he says quietly, leaning down to kiss her neck. "Go...do something. Light candles or put on music or something."

"But don't you need help in here?" she asks, eyelashes fluttering as he reaches for wine glasses in the cupboard behind her. And yeah, maybe that means he gets to press against her again, but whatever. That's just a bonus.

"No. I'm cooking you this..._romantic_...dinner." She smiles when he grimaces as he says the word, then hops up and kisses him before flouncing out of the kitchen.

So she lights candles, puts on music, and then takes a seat on the sofa. He brings her a glass of wine, then they have bruschetta as an appetizer.

Even if he doesn't like to admit it, he's totally a romantic. He doesn't let her lift a finger (except to feed him chocolate after their meal, but you know, that doesn't really count). They finish their bottle of wine and open another.

And when Rachel finally lets him undress her, you bet your ass he does it with his teeth.

----

Honestly, any time he thinks they're getting close to settled, to good, something happens to fuck it all up. And yeah, he's the one who got shot, and yeah, she's the one who's show ended, but it's not like that's either of their fault.

Neither is this.

Usually when his mom calls him, it's with stupid, silly news from Lima. Like _'that Mercedes from glee club'_ is now working at her father's dental practice, or Puck's sister is now on the honour roll, or Mrs. Sharp from across the street broke her hip in a fall. Things that aren't necessarily stupid, but aren't exactly worth him giving a lot of thought to, either.

This time, he calls her the bearer of bad news, and she actually apologizes, then tells him to let her know if there's anything she can do. Well, shit. He doesn't know.

Rachel's at the theater doing a show, so he knows he can't reach her, and he considers leaving her a voicemail telling her to call him as soon as she can, but he doesn't want to tell her this news over the phone. He needs to tell her in person. He needs to be able to hold her when he tells her.

She steps into the apartment and kicks off her shoes, barely noticing that he's standing there with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Oh! I thought you worked!" she says, dropping her purse onto the hall table.

"I was supposed to. I called in."

"What? Why?" she asks. She smiles and walks towards him. "Did you just want to be here to greet me properly when I got home?"

And okay, he should really stop her before she kisses him the way she kisses him, but he can't help it. She's absolutely gorgeous, and he needs this, to remember her happy, before he tells her this news.

And he wants to kiss her. There's that, too.

"Rachel."

"I had such a good day today. I'm so glad you're home," she says, wrapping her arms around his neck. She kisses along the line of his jaw, and that's when he stops her. Any more of that and he wouldn't be able to. He gets the feeling she doesn't want him to.

"Rachel, stop for a second," he insists, taking her wrists, pulling them down between them so he can hold her hands lightly. "Stop."

"What?"

"It's...it's your dad," he says quietly, looking at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

She swears her heart falls into her stomach. "What?" she repeats, more shakily this time.

"Mom...she told me that he..."

"Noah, just _tell_ me," she says desperately, her voice breaking.

"He had a heart attack, baby," he finally manages. God, he feels like his heart is being torn from his chest, watching her chin quiver, eyes fill with tears. "I'm so sorry, Rachel."

"What...is he...?"

"He's in the hospital. I don't know much," he admits. Tears fall down her cheeks and he pulls her into his arms, hand on the back of her head, cradled against his chest. "Rachel, I think we should go." She stiffens. "You'll never forgive yourself if...if something happens and you weren't there."

"Noah, I...I don't..." She lets out a sob and he closes his eyes, because fuck. There's no way he's going to actually _cry_ right now. No way.

"Listen, I've been thinking about this since she called," he says. He pulls away, resting his hands on both her cheeks to force her to look at him. "Rachel, you have to go."

He swipes the tears away before they fall down her cheeks, and she _loves_ him for that.

"You'll come with me, right?" she asks quietly, like she doesn't already know the answer.

What he wants to do is tell her that she's fucking insane for thinking that he wouldn't, for even entertaining the thought.

What he does instead is just nod, kiss her forehead, and pull her against him again.

She spends part of the evening on the phone with her director, then Puck's mom. He spends the evening booking time off work, reserving flights and packing a bag; they leave first thing in the morning.

Rachel falls asleep in his arms, and he doesn't even know if she's aware that she's crying.

----

She's holding his hand so tightly that she thinks she's hurting him. When he asks, he smirks and reminds her that he's a _'fucking badass,_ _and badasses don't get hurt when their girlfriends hold their hands.' _It makes her laugh, at least.

They've dropped their things off at his mom's place, said hello and talked a bit, and then Noah drove them to the hospital.

Now she's standing outside her father's room, and she honestly doesn't know if she can go in.

"Rach."

"I can't," she says quietly. He squeezes her hand before letting it go, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and kissing the top of her head. "I don't even know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he tells her. He doesn't know if that's true, but he figures it might be. When he was laying in a hospital bed, he just wanted her there; words weren't necessary. "Just go in. I'll be here."

She takes a deep breath and he pulls her into his arms. "Don't leave."

He laughs, and it makes her smile. "I wont."

He stands there and watches as she gathers the courage to push the door open, then step inside. He figures he should at least text some of the people they still talk to every once in a while who are still in town. Finn is in Cleveland, but when Puck talked to him the day before, he said he'd drive down for a day to hang out. Tina and Artie are married and living in Lima, and Mercedes is home. There are others, and he texts them all.

He figures Rachel might need some of that old school gleek support.

As soon as Rachel is inside the hospital room, the tears well in her eyes again. Her dad is laying there, sleeping in a hospital bed with monitors and wires attached to him, her daddy sitting next to the bed, holding her dad's hand with both of his. They both look older, grey in their hair and more wrinkles on their faces.

Her daddy doesn't notice she's there until the door closes behind her. He looks over at her, and she honestly can't read the expression on his face.

"Rachel."

She tries to catch her breath as he stands and walks towards her. "Hi, daddy."

They're both crying when he grabs her into a hug so tight it should probably hurt. It feels far better than she even thought possible.

"You came," he whispers into her hair. "I didn't think...I'm so happy you're here."

She can barely speak, but she manages to say, "me too."

"How did you even..." He pulls away, smiling at her through his tears. "My god, you're beautiful, Rachel."

"Daddy," she whispers. He wipes her tears with the tissue in his hand and pulls her toward the sofa in the room. "Aviva called Noah as soon as she heard, and he told me yesterday. We just got here this morning." He nods and they both look over to the bed. "How is he?"

"They're keeping him for observation, and they've been running tests for two days. There's talk that he might need a bypass," her daddy explains. "I just can't believe..."

"I know." Rachel rests her hand over his.

She knows they have a million things to talk about, a million things to get past, but she thinks all that can come later. All she wants right now is to know that her dad is going to be okay. The rest can wait.

He turns to her with a little grin on his face and just looks at her for a moment.

"You and Noah."

She can't help but smile. "Daddy."

He wraps his arm around her shoulder again and pulls her against his chest, both of them looking towards the bed. "He's going to be thrilled you're here." She's crying when he looks at her again. "Rachel."

"No, I'm sorry. I just...Everything's so messed up, and it's been so long, and after everything..."

"After everything, you still came," he says, pulling her into a hug again. She cries against his chest. "The rest will work itself out."

----

When Rachel's dad wakes up and sees that she's there, she does her best to keep him calm and stop the monitor next to the bed from going too crazy. He's crying, too, telling her how good it is to see her, that he's glad she came, and then the three of them are all bawling and holding hands and apologizing and whatever.

Of course, that's when Puck walks into the room.

"Um...sorry," he says quietly, casting a glance to Rachel. "They just told me visiting hours are over, so..."

"Oh," Rachel says. She smiles at him and he smiles back. He is kind of glad they're all working it out, despite all the shit he's said about her dads in the past. "I guess I should..."

"We'll talk to the nurse and twist her arm. You can stay," her daddy says eagerly.

"No," she laughs. "You both need to get rest. I'll come back in the morning. I promise."

Her dad takes her hand before she can stand up. "Rachel, sweetie." She looks down at him, and Puck isn't entirely comfortable witnessing this. "I love you."

She cries some more, and Puck doesn't know if it's instinct or whatever, but he walks forward and stands behind Rachel, resting his hand on her back. "I...I love you too, dad."

They say their goodbyes, and as soon as they're in the hall again, Rachel falls against Puck's chest. He doesn't really know what to do, other than just to hold her, so that's what he does. He runs his hand up and down her back soothingly while the other stays resting at the back of her neck.

"You okay?" he asks quietly. She nods against him, then leans up and kisses him quickly. "Good. Mom called. Apparently we're all having dinner. Hannah's boyfriend is coming." Rachel laughs at the way he says it, like he already hates the guy. "Don't laugh. Kid's probably a punk."

"Says the man who used to have a mohawk," she says as they start walking towards the exit.

"We both know you loved that shit."

"Maybe I just let you think that," she says, and he rolls his eyes at her. She stops walking and grabs his hand so he stands in front of her. "Noah, thank you for coming here with me today."

"Where the hell'd you think I was gonna be?" he asks, like she's insane for thinking she has to thank him.

"You just sat here for hours and waited. I didn't even come talk to you."

"I can take care of myself. Don't worry about it."

She honestly doesn't know how she got so lucky. She kisses him again, and when she tries to pull away, he grabs her and drags her into another kiss, one that has nurses clearing their throats and giving them dirty looks.

"I love you," she says quietly.

"Love you too."

Something always happens to her heart when he says those words. They don't say them all that often; they're implied in other, bigger ways. Hearing him tell her that he loves her just reminds her, and it always happens just when she needs to hear it.

"Let's go. I got a kid to terrify."

She laughs as he slings his arm around her shoulder so they can walk to the car.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Here is the last chapter! Thank you all SO much for reading and for your awesome reviews. You're fantastic, each and every one of you.

**----**

When Rachel wakes up, she's curled up alone in the middle of a strange bed, in a room that's decorated in Tool and Slayer posters. She smiles to herself when she realizes where she is, whose room this is. She looks around; she never did see his room when they were in high school.

The sheets are dark, and they smell like fabric softener and his leftover cologne from the day before. The curtains are drawn, sunlight begging to creep in. She sees an old guitar, not his, which is still in New York, sitting on a stand in the corner. It's clear Aviva has kept this room clean and tidy, and Rachel feels guilty when she realizes that this is the first time Noah has been home since leaving Lima. She feels like her rift with her fathers has kept him away from his home and his family.

She knows, though, that if she ever said that to him, he'd call her crazy and tell her she's wrong.

And the night before was _fun_. The kind of fun she forgot existed, where it's just family and playful teasing and laughter around the dining room table. Noah did everything in his power to attempt to torment Hannah's boyfriend, and Rachel is pretty sure it worked. She, however, got the boy alone and told him that Noah really isn't all that bad, and he's a lot of talk.

She's well aware that if the kid hurts Hannah, there'll be hell to pay. She may have mentioned something about that too.

When he walked back into the living room looking a little scared, Noah looked at Rachel questioningly. Later, when she told him what she said, he'd kissed her and told her he loved her again.

(See how fucking awesome his girl is?)

Aviva has been more than accommodating. Hannah has been sweet and lovely. Noah has been perfect. Rachel feels like she has a family again.

And she can hear them now, downstairs, banging around in the kitchen and laughing together. She checks the clock and sees that it's nearly 9:00, so she pushes back the covers and sets her feet on the ground. She looks terrible. Her hair is in a braid, sort of (there are pieces falling out everywhere), and her eyes are red, the skin around them puffy. She's wearing one of Noah's old McKinley Football tee shirts with her sleep shorts. She figures she'll clean herself up later.

She does fix her braid as she walks down the stairs, and when she steps into the kitchen she sees Noah standing there with his sister in a headlock, Aviva at the stove, shaking her head at her kids.

"Good morning, sweetie," Aviva says, noticing Rachel first.

Noah turns around, pulling Hannah with him. "Hey, babe."

"You know, you don't need to torment her all the time," Rachel says. She grabs Hannah's arm and pulls her away from Noah.

He looks her up and down. Damn, his girl is hot. Like, seriously. She's amazing. He wishes they'd dated for longer in high school so he could have had her in his football number sooner/more often. That tee shirt is definitely coming back to New York with them. So are the two jerseys he found. She is going to rock the hell out of that stuff in their apartment.

Shit. He wonders if any of her little skirts are still at her dads' place.

"Noah?"

"Hmm?"

"Where was your head just now?" his mom asks.

Oh, she does not want to know. But he's not the kind of guy to keep secrets, now, is he? And he's certainly the kind of guy who does whatever he can to embarrass his girlfriend every once in a while.

"Just thinking about how fucking hot Rachel looks with my name and number on her back," he says. He grins when Rachel turns pink and shakes her head.

"Watch your language!" Aviva scolds.

"I don't need to hear that," Hannah mumbles, biting into a piece of toast.

"Noah, must you be so crass?" Rachel asks.

Shit. _Three_ women on his case. He rolls his eyes and does as he's asked (told) when his mother gestures to the stack of plates sitting on the counter. He knows that means he should set the table. He drops a kiss to Rachel's head as he sets her plate in front of her. He knows his mom is watching when he asks Rachel if she'd like a cup of coffee and she nods.

Hannah and Rachel are busy talking about...whatever (he doesn't really care) as he pours Rachel's cup.

"I've never seen you like this," his mom says. He rolls his eyes. "I mean it. And I told you Rachel is perfect."

"Yeah, ma, you told me."

"When are you going to get married?" she asks, whispering to him as she sets their breakfast food on platters.

"Jesus, mom!" he says, far too loudly. Hannah and Rachel don't even seem to notice. "You're about as subtle as a fucking freight train."

"Don't curse," she says, pointing at him with her spatula. "Noah, girls like Rachel don't just stick around without a commitment."

"We're committed! I'm committed!"

"How long have you been together?" she asks, turning to face him head on.

"10 and a half months," he answers, without skipping a beat.

So yeah, he knows how long it's been. Whatever. Rachel's always casually mentioning it. And so what? Maybe he got her a silver bracelet for their six month, and maybe he made a joke about how they could have had a baby by now at the nine month mark (totally a joke, one that actually had her pissed at him for a couple hours; turns out she's kinda sensitive about that shit, given his history...) That doesn't mean anything.

"You're not getting any younger, Noah. What are you waiting for?"

He looks over at Rachel, sitting at the table. All he can see is her back (which he doesn't so much mind, given what she's wearing) and the braid that's falling over her shoulder. She's laughing at something, and despite the circumstances that brought them home, he's glad she's here, spending time with his family. She fits in.

That's the thing, though, isn't it? She just_ fits in_. Everywhere, every part of his life. It's like she just _belongs_ there or something.

And he doesn't want to get married right now. He doesn't even want to be engaged right now. He doesn't _know_ what he's waiting for.

"Food's getting cold," he mumbles.

He doesn't miss the way his mom shakes her head and rolls her eyes, trying not to laugh.

Yeah, he's totally just given himself away. Maybe someday he and Rachel will get married.

That should really, really freak him out.

But when he sits down at the kitchen table next to her, and she instinctively lets her hand fall to his thigh, he thinks that yeah, he could probably do this for the rest of his life.

----

She takes a deep breath when they pull up to the hospital. She's showered and changed into a pair of jeans and a lightweight sweater. She doesn't think today will include as much crying as yesterday, but she went light on the makeup anyway. She turns to Noah when the car comes to a stop, and he's staring at her already.

"You sure you don't want me to come in?" he asks.

"No!" she says, for what feels like the hundredth time. "I'll be fine. Go. Finn's getting here soon, right? And you're having lunch with Mike. Just go."

"Call me if you need _anything_," he says seriously. She smiles and nods. "I mean it, Rach. Anything."

"I will," she laughs. He supposes he should be grateful that she's in better spirits. He knows, though, since they talked about it in bed the night before, that she's still on edge about her relationship with her dads. "Will you go? Please?"

She leans across the car to kiss him, then grabs her purse, mumbles a goodbye, and heads into the hospital.

It's not that he doesn't trust her dads not to fuck it up. That's not it at all.

It's just that he spent a lot of years (way more than he'll admit) waiting and hoping for a relationship with his dad that, in the back of his mind, he knew he was never going to get.

He_ does not_ want her to have to go through the same heartache. He's not going to let it happen.

----

Halfway through dinner with Matt and Finn, Puck realizes just how fucking weird it is that the three of them are all sitting in the same place, hanging out like they haven't all slept with the same girl.

And then he just gets mad.

Yeah, he has her now, but they had her before, and he cannot help the way his mind wanders, wondering if she ever felt the way she feels with him with either of them.

_Fuck_.

Let's not get crazy. He knows he's the best she's ever had. She's told him as much and he can tell when she's lying and when she's telling the truth. He can also tell when she's faking it, which she's only tried once, and that didn't go over well. It didn't go over at all. (He'd just gotten off the night shift and they ended up starting something neither of them could stop, and she fucking took pity on him because he was so tired. Well fuck that. He figured it out, called her on it, and then made her come so hard she left teeth marks on his shoulder. Yeah. His girl does not need to fake _anything_.)

But then there's stupid history, stupid high school boyfriends, stupid him for not holding onto her when he was 16 goddamn years old.

But whatever. He supposes this hasn't really been that bad. At all, actually. They've reminisced a little bit and talked about the people they know from high school. Between the three of them, they've kept in touch with everyone. They all talk about work and school (well, Matt and Finn talk about school) and it's kind of nice to just hang out and have a meal and do pretty much nothing.

Rachel has already called him to tell him that her dad is going home today - no surgery necessary - and she's going to stay at her house (he's a little surprised she called it that) for the night.

(And he just realized that this is kinda the first night they've spent apart since they got together. Sure, he works nights sometimes, but she's always there when he gets home. This is different.)

So yeah, he's a little on edge, basically, and he's got a night of hanging with his mom and little sister ahead of him, since Finn's going to spend time with his mom, and Matt's hanging out with Mike or something, and Puck didn't want to be out someplace loud, in case Rachel calls and needs him. (He didn't actually _say_ that. He said that his mom is busting his balls about never being home or whatever.)

"Hey, say hi to Rachel for me," Matt says, hugging Puck after they've settled their tab. "Let her know I'm thinking about her."

"Me too," Finn says.

And that, right there, is enough to push him over the edge. (Doesn't matter that Finn is seeing some hot blonde chick in Cleveland.)

His two friends can tell immediately.

"Calm down, man. I just mean because of her dad, you jackass," Matt laughs. Finn joins in and Puck threatens (literally) to punch them both in the nuts. Assholes. "Rachel likes this possessive shit?"

"Fuck you. She's my girl and you can suck a dick if you want to talk shit about it."

Finn shakes his head as they walk out to the parking lot towards their cars.

"Charming, isn't he?" Finn asks.

Puck flips them both off as he walks away, telling them both he'll talk to them later.

His friends are assholes.

----

Rachel and her daddy get her dad settled into bed, comfortable with pillows behind him, the television on, remote close at hand. There's a pitcher of cool water on the bedside table, medication within reach.

When she leaves the room to make some food for herself and her daddy, she's struck with curiosity, and she peeks into her room quickly.

Not a thing has changed. Not one thing. Every pillow is in place. Every photo on the wall. Every stuffed animal perched on the dresser. All her clothes are hanging in the closet.

It's almost like they were waiting for her to come home or something.

(There's still that little part of her that wishes they would have tried harder to 'get her back.' Even if she doesn't know if it would have worked.)

Her phone buzzes in her pocket as she's walking down the stairs, and it's a text from Noah.

_Pls. Tell me not to kill Jackson. _

She laughs and keys in a response (_Don't kill him. You're no good to me if you're in jail_.) and steps into the kitchen, where her daddy is unloading the dishwasher. She sends him a look and he rolls his eyes. She's tried to tell him not to stress himself or do anything, that she's there to help.

They heat up the casserole Aviva dropped off that afternoon (the woman has this need to take care of people that Rachel thinks is insanely sweet) and sit, talking about his work and the town and all the things they haven't yet gotten a chance to talk about. They got through most of her career stuff (which her dads have been following closely) during the day when they were waiting for the all clear from the doctor.

The only topic they haven't really hit on (not much) is her relationship and Noah. She can tell by the way her dads have been looking at her any time she says the name, that they know more than she's probably assumed. Let's face it, Aviva Puckerman is a bit of a gossip, and certainly a mother, so there's no way she wouldn't have passed along that information. She's passed on a lot of information, Rachel has learned.

The three of them spend the evening all sitting together on her dads' big king sized bed, listening to the television buzzing in the background - some baseball game they aren't really paying attention to.

She's happy to be home, even if her heart still hurts at the thought of the last time they spoke, the things they said. It'll take time for that to go away, and maybe it never will. They aren't mad when she tells them so.

----

Puck's quiet night with his mom and sister ends up being a night with his mom, sister, and Jackson, his sister's boyfriend. This pisses him off momentarily, until he realizes that it's just another chance to scare the shit out of this stupid kid that Hannah seems to think is worth her time.

And seriously? She's _15_. What business does she have with a boyfriend anyway? And what the fuck kind of name is _Jackson_?

This has nothing to do with the fact that when he was 15, he'd already slept with a bunch of girls, or that by 17, he'd gotten one pregnant. But he'll be damned if that's going to happen to Hannah. _No fucking way_.

This day sucks. He hasn't seen Rachel since this morning, and his mom totally just let that little mouth breather go upstairs to hang out with Hannah_ in her bedroom_. Where she keeps her _bed_.

What. The. Fuck.

"_Mom_."

"Relax, Noah. What do you think happens when you aren't here?" she asks, flipping through television channels like nothing's wrong.

"That's what I'm afraid of. Shit, mom. That kid is no doubt thinking with his dick. I _know_, okay? I _was_ that kid. Except, you know, not a loser."

She laughs. He glares. "Hannah is not having sex. We talk. _She_ actually _tells_ me things," she says, raising her brow as she casts him a glance.

Yeah, neither she nor Rachel have let him live down the fact that he kept that relationship hidden for so long. Brilliant move on his part, clearly. Two Jewish women laying guilt trips on him. _Awesome_.

"Whatever," he mumbles.

"Would you stop?" she asks, tossing the remote in his direction. "They keep the door open, and they're never up there for more than an hour alone. I'm not the _worst_ mother in the world. I have set rules." She laughs when he rolls his eyes. What's with no one taking his shit seriously today? "Besides, it's not like it's some epic love story or anything."

He starts laughing. "Mom!"

"What? She's just in high school. No one meets the love of their life in high school," she says. There's a beat of silence, and he takes a breath. (_Some_ people do.) "Oh, _Noah_." He rolls his eyes again, because she's practically fucking swooning. "You just _love_ her, don't you?"

He lets out a quiet laugh and switches the TV to a baseball game, you know, to maintain at least _some_ of his masculinity.

"Yeah. I guess."

"You guess," she mumbles mockingly, standing from her place. She leans over and kisses his forehead before she walks past. "And she's Jewish!"

She whispers the last part, mostly to herself, he's sure, but he hears it anyway.

It _is_ kind of awesome that he's the good kid, all because he's dating a hot Jew and Hannah's boyfriend is a gentile. (So he's paraphrasing.)

He supposes it's not the worst thing that his mom actually approves of his girlfriend.

----

When Rachel finally goes to bed, it's nearing midnight, and she curls up on Noah's tee shirt (a few of her things were dropped off when Aviva brought the casserole; the tee shirt was at the top of the pile of clothing) beneath the covers of her old bed. It feels strange, almost in a good way. Maybe. She's not really sure.

She can't sleep.

She tosses and turns, fluffs her pillow, kicks off the covers, tries reading a magazine, tries counting sheep.

It's 2:00 am, and nothing's working.

She grabs her cell and dials Noah's number, though she's sure he's sleeping, and she's sure he's going to be mad that she's woken him.

"Rach? What the...it's...you okay?"

He's all groggy and disoriented. She thinks he sounds adorable. (And maybe she's picturing him in his bed, shirtless and missing her...because he has to be, right?)

"I can't sleep," she admits. "Clearly, you aren't having the same problem."

"Time is it?"

"After 2:00," she says sheepishly. "I wouldn't have called, but...I kinda miss you."

"You fuckin' better," he mumbles.

"I don't know how you can still curse like that, even when you're half asleep," she says, laughing as she falls back against her pillow.

"'S'a skill," he says, and she can hear him smirking. "You want me to do something that'll wear you out? Or what's the point of this call? What are you wearing?"

"You know what I'm wearing, and no. I just wanted to hear your voice."

"That's really girly, Rach. Even for you."

"Noah," she practically whines. "I can't sleep. I've tried everything."

"Not phone sex," he says, his voice low.

"And that won't be happening," she says sternly.

"Well..." He stops talking and sighs. She's sure he thinks she's insane for calling. "Want me to come over?"

"Noah! You can't come over, it's two in the morning!"

"I'm awake now. I might as well be awake with you."

See, that's the kind of thing that reminds her that he loves her.

"Your mom will..."

"I'll leave a note," he says casually. "And you can leave one for your dads so there aren't any more heart attacks when they realize I'm there."

She has to admit, he's kind of a genius when he wants to be (despite the ill-timed attempt at heart attack humour that she's choosing to ignore). She smiles and bites her lip. She feels like a teenager, sneaking him into her house in the middle of the night.

"Call me when you get here and I'll let you in."

It takes him only 15 minutes to get to her house, and he shows up in sweats and a tee shirt. He kisses her as soon as they're inside the house, and she's really, really trying to be quiet, but his hands slip beneath her tee shirt and he presses her against the wall in the foyer.

She asks him if he's just trying to get in all the teenaged rebellion with her that he never really got to have in this house. His hands slip down her body and he lifts her up so she wraps her legs around him.

"You know me so well, baby."

----

They're making out in her bedroom, and things are getting really fucking hot. Then, of course, his phone has to ring. Fuck.

It's Finn, saying that 'the old gang' (Puck immediately makes fun of his friend for saying those words) is getting together since Puck and Rachel are in town. Puck holds his hand over the phone and asks Rachel if she wants to go out for drinks with everyone.

She pushes him with a surprising amount of force and leaves him half hard, laying on her bed while she changes into a different outfit.

"I fucking hate you, man," Puck says into the phone before hanging up. Rachel's in her bra and a pair of jeans and laughing.

Nothing about this is fucking funny.

When they walk into the bar, they realize quickly that this is the first time any of them have been able to actually drink. And almost everyone is there. Artie and Tina (who they learn is three months pregnant), Mike, Matt, Mercedes, Finn. They sit with their tables pushed together, and after about a half hour, Brittany and Santana walk in, matching huge diamonds on their left hands, and Rachel kisses Puck for some reason.

Shit. She's going to want a ring at some point. Is it crazy that he thinks he'll start to save up for that? (Sometime over the course of a few days, he's gone from thinking that maybe they'll get married, to knowing he's going to propose within the next couple years.)

Everyone asks Rachel how her dad is doing, and she relays the information like she has been for days every time a relative or family friend has called.

Puck orders her a rum and diet coke, what she always gets in places like this, and she smiles at him when he sets it in front of her. The girls all shift so they're at one end of the table, the boys at the other. Puck and Rachel sit next to one another, his arm draped lazily around the back of her chair the entire time.

Mercedes mentions it to Rachel, and Rachel just smiles and shrugs her shoulder.

"We're good, you know?" she says. Noah must hear her, because he runs his thumb over her shoulder blade so no one else can notice. She loves it when he does things like that. "It's been...crazy, the way things happened. But New York is amazing, and I can't see things being different than they are. I wouldn't want them to be."

All the girls smile, and even Santana looks happy for them.

"That's great," Mercedes says sincerely. "I'm happy for you."

Rachel beams. "You too! I didn't know you were planning to start your own business!"

"It's just a spa," Mercedes says dismissively.

Santana rolls her eyes. "It's the nicest spa in town, and it takes like, a month to get an appointment," she says seriously.

"Growing up is weird," Brittany says after taking a sip of her pink drink.

"You guys are married!" Rachel says, like she's just realized it. She grabs both Santana and Brittany's hands, gazing at their matching rings. (Seriously, they're identical, except Santana's ring has one yellow stone hidden among the little diamonds, and Brittany's has a red one in the exact spot. It's very discreet.)

"We went to Canada!" Brittany says excitedly. She starts going on and on about the trip, what they saw and where they went and how long they stayed.

Noah takes Rachel's hand under the table and runs his thumb over her knuckles. She wonders if he realizes he lingers a little bit on her ring finger, or if that's all in her head.

By the end of the night, Rachel is exhausted and tipsy. Puck knows what this means. One, she's fucking _hilarious_ when she's drunk. Two, she's fucking _handsy_ when she's drunk.

So he tries not to lose his shit when she hugs Matt a little too long, or when she kisses Finn's cheek and lets him lift her off the ground as they hug.

And anyway, after she's said her goodbyes, she flounces back over to him and throws her arms around his neck from behind, lifting her feet so she's literally hanging off him.

"She's a fun drunk," Santana laughs. "Good luck with that, Puck."

"Trust me. It'll pay off," he says lecherously. Everyone laughs, and Rachel bites down none-too-gently on his earlobe. "Shit, baby!"

"Don't talk about me," she pouts. When she kisses his ear, letting her tongue sooth the spot she bit, he knows he needs to get her home immediately.

Fucking _immediately_.

"Good to see you guys," he says as he reaches for his keys. He learns it's not exactly easy do when you've got a midget hanging off your back. "Rachel, you wanna walk or something?"

"Nope," she says childishly.

"Have fun," Finn laughs. He, Matt and Mike have already decided to go to another bar across town. Brittany and Santana are going home, and Mercedes is already in her car, talking to someone on the phone. Artie and Tina left some time ago when she got tired. "Don't be strangers, okay? Come back here more often."

"We will," Puck says. He bumps fists with his friends again, and Rachel lets go enough to give them high fives as Puck walks past on the way to their rental car.

Okay, so she might be a little bit past tipsy.

He forces her onto her feet at the passenger side door, then opens it for her. "In," he commands.

"You're sexy when you're bossy," she says, tugging at the front of his tee shirt. All he can do is laugh.

"I know, baby. You love it." It's not a lie. She really does love that shit. "But I have to get you home."

She settles herself into her seat, and when he's backing out of the spot she berates him for not putting on his seat belt. (You get used to not wearing one when you're on patrol; you just buckle up when you get a call and have to speed around the city.) He clicks his seat belt in place just to placate her. She attaches her lips to his neck as a thank you.

"Rachel, Jesus," he growls. "At least save it for your bedroom."

"I'm sorry! I can't help it," she laughs, flopping back into her seat. "But we'll have to be quiet."

"Your dads know we're fucking."

"Noah!" she hisses, as if someone else could have heard him. "Don't say it like that."

His hand lands on her thigh, a little high, his fingertips brushing the seam of her jeans. "Don't tell me that's not what you wanna do tonight."

He squeezes her leg a little bit and her hand wraps around his fingers, holding them tightly in her own.

"Can't you go any faster?"

He laughs and accelerates.

(And yeah, he's gonna try to make her say that later, too.)

----

They've been in Lima four days and the have to leave, get back to their city and their jobs. They say goodbye to his mom and sister first, and his mom cries like the maniac she is and tells Rachel to make sure to take care of her baby boy. Rachel smiles and wraps her arm around Puck's waist as he rolls his eyes. Rachel invites Hannah to come to New York for a week in the summer, and her eyes light up as she looks to Aviva for permission. She says they'll 'discuss it', whatever that means. Puck doesn't really know. He figures that having his kid sister around wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

So then they go and spend the day with her dads. Puck still isn't sold on this whole 'instant forgiveness and now everything's fine!' situation she's got going on with the guys who pushed her away and never pulled her back for anything unless they needed it.

And yeah, he's the one who insisted that she come, because he knows her, and she _had_ to. He honestly didn't see her just forgiving and forgetting so quickly. Then again, they haven't really talked much about it since they've been back. He's sure she'll tell him all about her feelings before they're even back in New York.

He sits there with his arm around the back of her chair while they all eat lunch and sit around and whatever. They're talkers. Big talkers. He never really knew her dads, met them a couple times through glee club stuff or whatever. They're nice enough guys, he supposes. They're including him in the conversation and laughing at his jokes (which are, yes, a hell of a lot cleaner than usual.) They're not bad.

At one point, dad (heart attack one) gets tired, so he says goodbye to Puck and Rachel helps him upstairs and into bed. Puck is left in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in his hands as her daddy (Mark) sits to Puck's left.

Just a little awkward.

"Rachel told me that you took care of everything to get her here. I wanted to say thank you for that," Mark says quietly.

Puck is kinda pissed.

The fuck if he's gonna let her dads think he did this out of the kindness of his heart or some shit. No fucking way.

"I did that for her, not for you," Puck says seriously. He is not afraid of this guy. He might be Rachel's dad, but he's not the one who's been around, supporting her for the last five years. And the one who has been around is going to keep protecting her, even from these people. "I knew she'd never let go of it if something happened and she never tried to work things out."

"I understand."

"No, I don't think you do," Puck says, laughing humourlessly. "I've been there with her since she left Lima. I sat beside her on the bus when she was pretending not to cry. No offense, but you don't understand shit about her." Fuck. Maybe he should be attempting to be a little more eloquent. "All due respect, I've been the one and only constant in her life, and that's not changing, by the way. So you can thank me all you want, but at the end of the day, if you hurt her again..." He stops to take a breath. He doesn't want to make threats. He'd never keep Rachel from her dads if that wasn't what she wanted. He's not crazy. "Just...just don't hurt her again."

Dude looks like he's about to cry or something.

"Thank you," he says quietly.

Puck supposes that's exactly the answer he was looking for, because it makes him feel pretty good.

----

Rachel doesn't really know why she cries the whole flight home. Noah is next to her the whole time, trying to placate her, and she laughs at herself at one point because she knows how ridiculous she's being. ("It was just a lot to take in, in four days," she says, and he kisses her forehead.)

When they step into their apartment, she announces that she's going to take a shower to get the plane smell off her, and he starts tossing his dirty clothes into the hamper as he unpacks. He checks the messages on their home phone, mostly calls from her friends and his buddies, offering support. He likes that they each have people who care enough to do things like that. There's a message from Jay, reminding Puck about the baseball game he got them tickets for. One of Rachel's girlfriends suggests some kind of spa day or whatever.

They have people who care about them here. It's nice.

He's hoisting her suitcase up onto the bed for her so she can unpack later, and she walks into the bedroom with a towel around her body, hair tousled and wet. She smiles when he looks her up and down. She'd swear that they just started dating sometimes, the way he looks at her. She's never felt sexier in her life than she does now that they're together. It doesn't hurt that he tells her so often. (It's funny, she thinks._ I love you_, he says once a month, and yet he comments on her appearance daily.)

"It's so nice to be home," she says seriously, running a brush through her wet hair a few times. He smiles at her and walks towards her. "What?"

"Home."

"This is home," she says as he rests his hands on her waist. "I think that's what I took away from this trip."

"Yeah?" he asks, leaning in closer. She smells like vanilla and that shampoo he loves.

"Mhmm." He kisses her gently and she still has her eyes closed when he pulls away.

They're both thinking the same thing, and they both know it's far too cliché to say it, but home is with one another, in their own space, in their own lives. He'll never admit to that out loud, but it's okay, because he knows that she knows.

She pulls on a pair of jeans and a plain white tank top, and braids her hair as she walks to the kitchen to turn the kettle on. He's already settled on the sofa, guitar across his lap. She loves him like this, casual, calm. It seems these days that they're always doing something. They're both busy, and he works strange hours sometimes. Their time together is spent talking or running errands or going to meet with friends. This reminds her of when they first moved to the city, and they were still basically getting to know one another.

Now she knows everything about him, and he, her, but she still loves to just be with him and relax, like they used to in the beginning.

She sits down on the floor in front of him and rests her head against his knee, cradling her cup of tea in both hands.

"Play me a song," she says, and he smiles because she's never actually said those words before. He's done it, of course, played for her before, but she's never asked him to, not really.

"Wanna hear one of mine?"

There are _not_ butterflies in his stomach. Dudes do not get butterflies.

And he's _not_ nervous.

"Yeah," she says softly.

He plays the opening bars to Your Body Is A Wonderland, and she laughs and tips her head back to look at him.

"Oh, right. Not mine," he says, smirking down at her. "True though. Your body is smokin' hot."

She rolls her eyes and looks away again, sipping her tea. She hooks her arm around his leg so her hand is resting on his calf, and he is just so comfortable with her that he has to smile. God, he loves this girl. So much it's insane. He likes it.

He thinks he loves In Love Rachel the most.

And so he starts singing a song about a girl with starry eyes.

_**-Fin-**_


End file.
